


Never in Our Favor

by InsertACatchyPennameHere



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 70th Hunger Games, 74th Hunger Games, 75th Hunger Games, A Story about Survival, A story of hope, Against the Odds, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hope, Hope is Stronger than Fear, Multi, Quarter Quell, Revolution, So much angst, Survival, Surviving Despite the Odds, The Chasm of Suffering, This Story Is Violent, Twelve Year Old Katniss, Victory, children killing children, this is the hunger games, young katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 53,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertACatchyPennameHere/pseuds/InsertACatchyPennameHere
Summary: This is a story told in three diverse parts, all from unique perspectives. Instead of being a skilled hunter at only sixteen, Katniss Everdeen is twelve years old when she is reaped for the 74th Hunger Games. With her family starving and her odds slim to none, she entrusts the baker's son, a boy her age named Peeta, as she fully anticipates her death at the hands of older, experienced tributes or her reapmate, a hunter named Gale. With the promise to try her best at living until the very hand given to her seven year old sister, the youngest and most unlikely of tributes begins a motion that defies more than unlikely odds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! I began writing this story on Fanfiction dot net on January 17th, 2014, and my last update was December 12th, 2016. (Alternatively given information: Holy chalupas.) I thought of it again upon listening to the soundtrack for the HG movie (which I liked a lot, fight me) and decided to transfer it here as well because I'd like to actually see it finished, as this was my passion project for AGES and I still really enjoy the world that Suzanne Collins precurred even though I've been technically out of the fandom for a hot minute. 
> 
> I'm taking it upon myself to correct the facts, grammar and probably some of dialogue, but the overall structure and (what I can remember) integrity of the story will stay the same. It's certainly going to be interesting to write in first person again after all this time, but I still love this old and now revived project of mine, am incredibly proud of past me for doing what I did, and I still don't think anyone else (at least to my knowledge) has explored this AU, so thank you for joining me along for this pioneer ride!
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy! ♥

Mom is awake before I am, sitting in her old rocking chair beside the burned-out fire, her hair a mess around her thin face. She isn't looking at me; I don't think she even realizes my presence. I slowly roll to my feet, waving my hand in front of her face. She doesn't respond, so she must be in one of her 'episodes'. Her episodes can last hours, even days, and they're constant. She leaves us even more than usual during these episodes, and she won't respond to anything my sister and I try.

I hate the episodes. They make everything seem so much worse than they actually are, but that definitely isn't by much at this point.

My little sister begins to wake up now, probably noticing my absence in our bed. I bite my lower lip and look over to the door, where my father's old hunting boots and his big leather jacket is hanging. Even though it's May, the temperatures here in District Twelve are always low, and unless it's July or early August, everyone always needs on some kind of protection from the wind. My father's jacket is what keeps me the warmest; it's even big enough to fit both my sister and I.

We need food again. The only way I can get it, though, is by going back into the woods. I've been trying for the past three months, running from every little noise I hear so I'm not caught. If I'm ever apprehended, I will certainly be killed by the Peacekeepers, probably publicly. They'd take my baby sister, who just turned eight earlier this month, to that horrible orphanage where she would never be adopted or taught how to survive. She'd be dead by the end of this year and so would Mom.

I know I have to go now, while the sun is just now rising; I was left at least that knowledge by my late father, a man far better at this type of business and far more experienced than me.

"Katniss?" My sister, Primrose, calls out softly as she sits up in bed.

She's so much smaller than the other kids because we're always starving, because the tesserae I get now still doesn't fill any of us up and because I'm still horrible at hunting compared to Papa. She's always smiling, though. Even though Mom seems to always be in an episode, she combs out her hair in the morning and follows me around like she used to follow our parents around. I am her guardian now.

I walk over to her before she can get up and stroke her blonde hair down her back. "Why don't you get some extra sleep, Prim?"

"I'm not sleepy anymore." She pokes out her bottom lip in a pout. "Do we have food?"

I frown and lay her back down, trying to come up with some excuse so she won't get upset. "Not right now, but...But if you go sleep right now, when you wake up, we'll have food."

Her bright blue eyes get wide. "Really? Promise?"

"I promise." I pull the blanket up, tucking it around her tightly. She doesn't need to follow me into the woods, and even though I probably won't catch anything again, I might be able to find some edible berries.

She closes her eyes tightly and I breathe softly in relief, hurrying to pull on Dad's coat and slip my feet in his boots, tying the laces as tightly as I can. My feet are loud as I go as fast as I can through the dusty, empty streets; I hope the animals will not hear my clunky boots in the woods. It's illegal to go past the fences, but there's no other way my family and I won't starve to death.

Four months ago, we would've been long gone. But we were all given hope, myself included, when a boy who works at the bakery in the more rich part of District Twelve tossed me two loafs of burnt bread while I was dying in the rain. Prim and I found a book full of edible plants after that that our father wrote for my mother, so we began to scrape by with various mixes of vegetables and fruit until I finally turned twelve and went out to get our first month of tessarae. That next day was when I began trying to hunt like my Papa before me.

Once I duck under the 'electric' fence that hasn't buzzed in years, I go straight to the spot where Dad kept his bow as well as mine, the one he'd made my small one only weeks before he'd been blown to pieces in a mining accident. I grip it tightly as I put the quiver of arrows over my back, beginning to go through the woods as quietly as I can in my very loosely fitting footwear.

As I look around for game, I wonder if I'll see the boy who also hunts around here. I certainly don't want too; he's older than me by two years, very full of himself, and much more skillful than I figure I'll ever be. He hates me, too, and we've a held silent competition, each of us always wondering who can make it longer out here before stopping risking ourselves for the potential of food. He always catches something, though, and I've only shot a couple of rabbits before by dumb luck, so he wouldn't be wrong to think I'm probably a lost cause. Sometimes I think about asking for his help, but he'd never give it and I'm too proud to ask. To him, I'm just a scrawny twelve year old kid he runs into sometimes and who probably scares off the prey. Hell, we don't even know each other's names.

A twig snaps. I grip my bow tighter, slowly pulling out an arrow and notching it. Time stands still, the silence stretching on seemingly forever before a squirrel scurries out with it's nose twitching. He catches sight of me before I let my arrow fly, but that's the last thing he ever sees. I'm gaping as it collapses; my arrow shot it right between the eyes. I can't move for several seconds, my feet feeling heavy as my victory washes over me and I realize that Prim will be mortified I was forced to kill something so cute if I don't clean it up. Someone clears their throat behind me, which sends me whirling back into motion; I snap my bow into position out of instinct, realizing a split second later that would damn me if this should be a Peacekeeper.

"Damn." The older hunter I've met before lets out a low whistle, and if my raising my weapon scares him, he doesn't show it. "I didn't know you could shoot like that, kid."

I turn away from him, going to pick up my squirrel. It's head almost falls off when I lift it and I grimace; I'm not looking forward to having to go into the Hob and beg for someone to take it off of my hands, because Mom definitely won't be able to cook it today.

Something whizzes by my ear and I duck, turning back in the direction of the boy so quickly that I trip over my boots and fall down. He's holding his own bow now in a position that looks completely natural on his thin, lumber frame, lowering it slowly as a small smirk plays on his face. About ten feet away from us, a rabbit is now stuck in place, impaled through the heart by a thick and sturdy arrow.

"If you want it, you can have it," he grunts, looking at me with his dark gray eyes that nearly ever miner possesses, ones just like my own.

I'm stunned by the offer. "What do you want in return?"

He simply turns away. "I can hunt and you just had your first really accurate shot out of luck; you need all the help you can get. I can manage."

As he strides away easily, I find myself not being able to move while my heart pounds hard in my chest and I speculate he's lying. He must notice me not going in the other direction, because he pauses and turns his head. He's smirking again, like I just fell into some kind of trap. I stiffen again but he doesn't come closer or even turn all the way around.

Instead, he asks plainly, "What is your name, anyway?"

I glance down. I don't  _want_ him to know my name or even want him to help, really, but despite my pride I know he's doing me a massive favor. I'm not going to be able to provide my family with enough food to survive simply on plants. I've got to know how to hunt well, and now that Dad is dead, he's the only one who can teach me.

"Katniss," I whisper, not meeting his gaze.

He chuckles darkly. "Catnip? That's not a name you hear every day."

I frown instantly and narrow my eyes. He's already turned away, though, and is loading another arrow without another glance at me.

"What about you?!" I yell in his wake; it may be risky, but I won't be the only one still ignorant.

"Gale." After that he walks away, leaving me to scramble to pick up the rabbit and squirrel and scurry to the Hob.

I manage to get the rabbit treated in exchange for half of it, and I trade the squirrel in for some more iodine to keep our water clean. Tucking them under the coat, I hurry back to my house and set my prizes on the table, planning on picking some berries before I have to get ready for my first Reaping. I can't tell Mom or ever let Prim know it, but I'm scared senseless. My name's in there three times instead of one, so I'm a little bit more likely to be picked for the Hunger Games than my classmates. Of course I'm still probably not going to be chosen, especially compared to the older kids who get the same meager rations, but there's always a risk that's hung over my head for so long it's part of my personality.

About half an hour later and I've gotten as many blueberries as I can fit in the pockets of the jacket and piled them with the game, which has already started to smell bad. I pull off my hunting clothes quickly and start to try cooking the meat over the fire; I drop half into the flames and barely get it out before it's ruined. I give up after that, climbing into a a barely lukewarm tub of water after shoving it under the nearby water pump and warming it as long as I dare. While I'm trying to get most of the dirt and dust out of my hair, Prim wakes up again and sits up with a hopeful look on her face.

"Do we have food?" She sniffs the air and probably catches whiff of the last bits of smoke from my now scuffed fire.

"Yes, but we need to get clean before we eat." I decide I've done all I really can do and climb out, struggling with my tangled hair until I can put it in two braids.

I help Prim with her hair after she's cleaned up, and she plaits Mom's. We pull her to the table and we all eat the rabbit quickly, and it's not hard to ignore the burnt bits when it's the first filling substance we've had in nearly a week. We eat half of the blueberries more slowly, and Prim suggests we save the rest for after the Reaping to celebrate. I look down at my outfit, one that feels too fancy for such a dreary occasion; the white blouse is too large on me, as it was once my mother's, and the grey skirt is one I've longer outgrown. Prim is wearing a plain grey coat that was also from our mother's younger years, her hair in two braids like mine, but she still looks much better than I could ever be with her carefully practiced eye for appearing respectable and beautiful, youthful features.  Mom is still in her nightgown but we don't question it, simply help her into another thin coat before we head to the center of the District, Prim holding both of our hands in her tiny ones.

Our District escort, Effie Trinket, is as terrifying as usual. This year her hair is a bright green in color, her face looking like a box of paints threw up on it and all of her well fed frame popping underneath a hideous gown of silver and pink. She walks on the stage very carefully in way-too tall heels, everything about her lavish and vibrating with excitement over the day. She can't help it; all the Capitolites think it's funny how they force one male and female tribute out of the twelve Districts every year to fight to death in an arena until only one is left standing, but I still resent her with every fiber of my being. After all, why should I let them have have their fun when I've never eaten as much as their babies? My outer apathy is all I can do to keep my individuality under their tyranny.

District Twelve has only had two Victors in seventy years, and the first one has been dead for twenty years. The other one is Haymitch Abernathy, a man who is always drunk or sleeping. He gives us an even worse name and gives the Capitol plenty of reasons to poke fun at our District every year, which they do a spectacular job at, but most of us are too close to death to care.

After we watch a video describing the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason, it's time for the names to be called. I'm standing with the other twelve year olds, straining to see over the hundreds of heads in front of me as Effie hurries over to the bowl with all of the eligible girls' names inside. Mom and Prim are directly behind me; Mom is staring straight ahead with no emotion and Prim is gripping my hand as tightly as she can with both hands. I try not to break my poker face when she pulls out a slip, going to back to the microphone with a proud look on her face.

"Katniss Everdeen!" She declares, the sound echoing through the dust and blaring silence.

Heads turn to me instantly and I let out a weak sound of distress. Prim's eyes are wide and glued on me as I slowly slip free of her grip, stepping toward the stage. People move to either side for me, nearly all of their faces sympathetic while a few are too outwardly relieved. Someone could always volunteer to take my place, but nobody is going to do that. People around here tolerate me, so they only feel pity that I, a scrawny and poor twelve year old, will go into the Hunger Games to face a more brutal death than I'd get here.

"Hello, darling!" Effie croons as I stand there, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable like I did when my father was killed. "Aren't you a pretty young thing! Why don't you smile for the cameras, now, you  _are_ televised for the most prestige honor you've had in your life!" 

I don't, not really. I've become at least proficcient in the art of 'just enough to appease', letting a weak and plastic grin form before settling my expression into a hollow one that counters Mother's. All of the fake people who delight and could not dream of suffering do not get my joy, my sadness, or my terror; they are all mine and they cannot pry it from me. 

"Much better! Now, let's select your District partner!" Effie chirps.

I find Prim and Mom in the crowd easily, as Prim's loud cries are easily heard in the deadly silence. Mom doesn't seem to care or truly notice I've been Reaped, and while I'm not surprised I'm still disappointed. Our family has now officially apart. I will die, Prim will be forced into the awful community home if she doesn't die with Mom before then, and still nothing.

"Gale Hawthorne!" Effie announces against the microphone, which I now notice is sequenced. 

My fate has now been double sealed. 


	2. Part One, Chapter One: Farewell

As they force me into a room for my final goodbyes to my family, I find tears pooling into my eyes despite myself. Dad always talked about how I could never be shaken, no mater how badly I was hurt. He said I was like the largest tree in the forest, stubborn enough to stay and strong enough to do it. I decide now that I'm more like the Hanging Tree as I angrily wipe the moisture from my vision; the old forbidden song never mentioned if the tree was old, frail and dying, but I think it is now more than ever.

For an eternity I sit in the too-fancy room with all of the velvet and lace in bright colors, as if even my District celebrates this. In truth, District 12 is a dark and gloomy place, so this room is entirely out of place because it belongs to the Capitol. I watch the various coal miners be forced to take down the similiar stage and banners that lite up the square minutes ago; within the hour District 12 will be the same as it's always been. The only difference is that Prim will never go back to our house and that my mother will die, and Gale's family, whoever they might be, will be hungrier without his hunting.

The door opens and I whirl around, embracing my sister as she runs to me. Mom isn't with her, but I'm not worried about her right now. Prim's hot tears seep through the flimsy cloth of my shirt, but I know my own are soaking the top of her head. I never cry in front of her, but this is the last time I'll ever see her. I'll be strong for her during the Games until I die. Right now, I can't be.

"Yo...you're gonna die?" She whispers shakily.

I don't have the heart to tell her we're  _all_ going to die. I could never.

"I don't know, Prim." I slowly stroke her tightly wound braids. Did I really just do them this morning?

This upsets her more, which is to be expected. "I-I don't want y-you to die!"

"I don't want to die either," I assure her quietly. "I promise I'll try to win for you."

"If...If you win, won't we live with Mr. Abernathy?" She inquires shakily, wiping her eyes briefly as she fixes on me with her blue eyes. Blue eyes, something she got from our mother, something from the merchant class.

"We'll live in the Victor's Village, that's right." I straighten her coat lightly.

"And...And what if you don't win?" She inquires nervously.

I sigh and her face clouds. The expression she now wears is much older than her tiny, ripe age, one that I see so often when I look in the mirror. I feel coldness creep into when she looks me in my eyes.

"We all die?" She says it like a question, but I know she knows. "Like Papa?"

My heart, already hollowed by one loss, caves in all the way. She knows as well as I do the odds of me winning are slim to nonexsistant, and I cannot lie to her again, fill her with false hope only to have it ripped away later. Instead I pull her closer, kissing her forehead and stroking her back. We stand there together, holding onto each other with all we have, until the door opens again and a Peacekeeper announces that our time is up. She looks like she's about to struggle against them when they yank us apart, but instead she quickly forms her face, still as fresh as she the flower for which she was named, into an expression like my own. One that's not afraid, one that's passive but not accepting, one that makes me and would make Papa proud.

"I love you!" She yells as they pull her out easily.

"I love-" My words are cut off by the door slamming shut again, but I owe it to her to finish as loudly as I began before I sink to my knees now and drive the backs of my knuckles into my stinging eyes. "I love you, too!" 

Others come, but they're not very important. A few from school, a man who used to always to take my squirrels in exchange for some dairy. The mayor's daughter, Madge, makes an appearance as well, but she's crying too hard to really say anything. We were together a lot during school, so I guess we were friends. I notice a golden pin on her a shirt, a tiny little bird attached by the tips of the wings to the circle. She notices me looking at it and takes it off, extending her hand to me with it in her open palm.

"It's a Mockingjay pin," she says stuffily.

"What's a Mockingjay?" I slowly take it and turn it repeatedly in my fingertips, admiring the way it catches the light.

"You remember that lesson in school a few months ago about the Jabberjays?" She asks quietly, referring to these birds that the Capitol made in the Dark Days that could repeat anything. "Well, when the Dark Days were over, they went in the wild and mated with Mockingbirds. So, now there's Mockingjays."

I nod slowly. "That's cool."

When I hand it back to her, she hesitates. "Do you..want to keep it? As a token?"

"No, it's yours." I pin it back on her shirt just as the door is opening again.

"I want to give you something!" She implores suddenly, even as the Peacekeepers step in to yank her out like they had to my sister. "Yo-you're my only real friend!"

This stuns me briefly, but her actually  _struggling_ against the authorities snaps my brain back into motion. "Just...just check on Prim for me sometimes! Do-don't let her-"

My words are cut off when a Peacekeeper jerks back and his elbow collides with my mouth. I fall back onto the window bench as they drag her out quickly, slamming the heavy door in their wake. I never got her response because of that, and I can only hope she understood me. Nobody else comes after her for the longest time and I allot that time for me to cry. I don't care if they'll be cameras waiting as soon as I'm forced out; if I appear weak it's because I am.

Nothing happens for what seems like years. I get one last visitor after that, though, one that nearly makes me start crying again.

The boy who saved my family's lives a few months ago stands in front of me. He's holding a small package in his hands, looking very nervous. He's from the merchant class and it shows in his blonde hair and blue eyes, and it reminds me too much of my mother and sister, both of which are probably going through Hell right now.

"My name is Peeta Mellerk," he says quietly. "You're...Katniss Everdeen, right?"

Slowly, I nod. Instead of looking him in the eyes, I look at the waxy package in his hands. "What's that?"

He brings it up and places it in my hands; it's slightly warm. "Cookies. I'm...not sure if you've ever had them before, but they're sweet. I thought you might like them."

A gift. Not one to save my life, rather one to send me off with. I slowly open it and look at the two treats made of sugar inside; this is something I'd never be able to taste otherwise. I take one out and stare it for a minute before quickly pressing it into his hand.

"We'll share them," I say quickly, quietly, so suddenly even I don't realize I say it until it's too late.

He looks as stunned as I feel but nods, bringing it to his lips and chewing carefully. I mirror his movements, still unable to look at his face. He still has a small mark from where his mother beat him the night he helped me, as she obviously hit him with something much harder than her hand. Unlike me, he seems to make it a point to watch me, his bright blue eyes alert but shy and reserved.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," he finally speaks again. "The bread wasn't even much, but-"

"Don't say that," I cut in. He looks up at me with alarm in his expression. "You saved us. My sister, my mother, and I would be dead if it wasn't for you."

He looks even more shocked than he did when I proposed our sharing his cookies. We stare at each other for a few moments before I look down again. This time, he places a trembling hand on my shoulder, making me jump briefly and him to flinch back instantly.

"I'll look after them for you," he says softly. "I won't let them take your sister."

I stare at him again, feeling my stomach twisting in knots but my heart leap. "How? They won't listen to you."

"No, but they will listen to my parents." He looks so sincere and kind, I almost want to start crying again. "I'll get them to take them in for a little while, until you come back."

"And if I don't?"

He goes quiet for a moment. "...My mother always wanted a daughter."

We're both quiet after that. He doesn't have to say anything else because we both already knew that's the only way Prim will survive, if even that happens. Even though they're from the richer class, it's still hard to come by enough food in District 12, especially when a family is large. The Mellerk family has four already. Five would be a risky number, and six is unreasonable.

"Thank you for saving us," I say after another period of silence. "Twice."

"You don't have-" He tries. He's selfless and pure, like my sister.

"Yes I do." I interject with more force than intended. "I'll never be able to repay you for what you're doing."

The doorknob turns and he stands up at the same time I do. He makes a bold move by kissing my cheek before skirting to the door, glancing back at me when he's at a safe distance.

"Shoot straight," he says simply before darting out.

I spend the rest of the time I'm inside the room pacing, trying to make sense of Peeta's kindness. I've never done anything for him to merit it except manage to trade a squirrel for a bit of cream from his father last week, but that still doesn't explain his throwing me the burnt bread months before. These thoughts cloud my mind even as the door opens a final time and I'm escorted out, right into the flashing cameras and buzz of the reporters.

A few from my District watch as Gale and I are lead to the train after a brief car ride. (Effie Trinket did not make the experience any better.) A woman who resembles him stands among them, holding three younger kids close that watch Gale with fear and confusion on their faces. Prim stands grasping my mother's hand near them; she doesn't look like she's been crying, but she seems more vulnerable, her eyes full of sadness and her too-thin body huddled close to our all but dead parent.

The second we're on the train the scent of hot food slams into my face, making my senses overload with pleasure. All across the car food is waiting for us, set up in elegant silverware. Most of them I can't recognize, but even one of the clusters would feed my family for a week. Even Gale, who's made it a point to not show emotion this entire time, looks longing.

"It's all at your disperse!" Effie squeals. "You get to live the Capitol life, but only for a little while, so you may enjoy it to it's fullest!"

She doesn't have to tell either of us twice. Half an hour later I'm in a room I was told is mine for tonight, my stomach so full I can hardly think. Effie warned us that dinner would be soon and that'd we needed to save room, but I'll probably skip it and eat more of the display food once everyone else is done. I don't want to interact with anymore any more than I'm forced too.

There's a knock at the door that's much too heavy to be from frail Effie. I tense, fearing it'll be Gale to kill me early, but instead an extremely drunk Haymitch Abernathy stumbles in. He won the 50th Annual Hunger Games, but right now it doesn't seem like he could kill a fly, much less other tributes.

"You...you're young," he slurs out, leaning against the door frame heavily. "Both-" He burps. "Of you."

I can't help but sneer. "What does it matter? You won your Games when you fifteen, didn't you?"

He grins and tries to look at me, but his eyes are too unfocused. "I-" Another loud burp. "Like you. You've got...spirit."

He proceeds to drop on my floor, probably unconscious or asleep. I skirt around him and head for the back of the train. If I'm going to win the Games, I can't rely on him for help, and I definitely can't trust in Gale or Effie. My family is still as good as dead and back at District 12.

As I settle in lounge at the back of the train, I realize that I'm even more alone than when Dad died.


	3. Part One, Chapter Two: The Chariots

"It's going to be a big, big day!" Effie's squealing and frantic knocking on the door wakes me in the morning. "Up, up, up, we'll be in the  _Capitol_  soon!"

Even with my being awake, I don't move until I'm certain she's ready to drag me out of bed by my hair. I don't have any more hunting to rouse for, unless you count the killing that's promised I'll be forced to do in the arena if I'm going to survive. I don't want to interact with any of the Capiolites, and Gale and I still can barely stand each other's presence. I'm enemies with everyone already, and the Games have not even begun yet.

I reach over to the empty side of the bed- my entire family, my father included, could easily fit in this soft space- to remind myself of the promise I made to Prim. This is enough to get me to my feet and into the bathroom, where I experiment with the shower until I'm completely wrinkled and burned in several places. I'm instantly blown dry by a series of powerful fans, my hair falling untangled on either side of my shoulders like it was when I got in,  now wavy from the braids and shiny from the water.

My reflection stares back at me for a few long moments. I'm thin and not very tall even compared to Effie, who looks like a mere breeze could knock her down. My hair is extremely long, almost to the tops of my thighs, and my eyes are gray just like the dust constantly in our District. According to the miners who'd visit my father at our home on occasion, I'm way too young to be pretty, but they commented that I was cute. They are wrong, but no amount of protesting would have them believing that. I'm sure, at least, the Capitolites will agree with me.

Lucky for me, I've stalled long enough that nobody is in the dining cart by the time I enter with my Reaping outfit on rather than the creepily well fitting clothes in my closet. I'm still gorging on the feast still laid out in wait for me when the cart grows dark, making me leap to my feet so quickly that I have a feeling looks like that of an animal. I slowly creep toward the window none the less, squinting when the light bursts back in and reveals the place that sends children to die for fun- the Capitol.

Even though I despise them all, their living is beautiful. The buildings touch the sky, the sun makes everything sparkle and shine, there's no disorganization or mess. The actual Capiolites, on the other hand, are hideously stunning. They cheer with lips larger than my fist, hairs and skins are wild colors, hair styles bizarre and patterns etched all over them anywhere I look. They're all cheering, staring as we roll by, quite a few reaching out as if to touch me as we zoom past the enormous crowd. I can't bring myself to smile back, but I do wave slowly until they're finally out of sight.

"You can do better than that." A voice behind me surprises me so badly I trip around my knees when I whirl around.

Haymitch is standing almost directly behind me; I don't know how his stench didn't make me detect him. He's holding a wine glass full of alcohol, a loose expression of tutting on his face.

"What do you mean?" I demand, my voice coming out sharp and irritated.

He steps closer and I nearly gag. "Look, kid. If you want to survive, you have to get  _Sponsors._ They're the ones who send the parachutes with food, a box of matches, and water. If you can get them to  _like you,_ then you've increased your chance of survival at least five percent."

Five pecent is more than no percent. "Then how do I get them to like me?"

He gives me a loose grin. "You can figure that out on your own, sweetheart."

On that sloppy note, he staggers in the other direction, probably to find more liquor. Something instant sparks in me briefly, but not so briefly that I don't seize Haymitch's shoulder and all but pin him to a wall. He snatches me by the back of the hair harshly and pulls back, but I just knee him in the stomach and wind up up with sprayed vile in my face. I grimace, but it's not like Prim didn't spit up on me before when she was little.

"How do I get them to like me?" I demand despite the sickening stench.

He scowls at me. "You don't attack them. Smile big for the cameras. Pretend you aren't some screwed up kid from the mines. I don't know, act  _innocent."_

I step back and he almost collapses with the sudden absence of my weight on his, even though that's not much. He's quickly stumbling off, however, grumbling not very quiet complaints about me. I go in the opposite direction, ducking back into the bathroom and staring at my clothes, the last things I have from home, which now have his a drunk's puke on them. I angrily pull it all off of my body, tossing it to the shower floor and blasting hot water while scrubbing with the soap.

I'm interrupted hardly five minutes later by Effie, who's screeching that I'm ready to be 'transferred' in about ten minutes. I consider ignoring her but decide I'd rather not be shown in front of Panem completely disselved, so I allow the bizarre machine to my outfit so well it's blasted out of my hands briefly. I'm just buttoning up the shirt when Effie knocks quickly again.

"We're stopped, we're stopped! Hurry, hurry, hurry!" She calls frantically.

I stare at my reflection, at my fluffy, wavy hair, and seize it all in one hand, clumsily doing a single braid over my shoulder for time's sake. The second I step out of the bathroom I'm whisked by our escort outside where I'm met with another large crowd. Eventually, I'm inside of a plain white room with three freaky products of the Capitol- Flavius, who has orange, corkscrew type hair, Venia, who's nearly as thin as me with blue hair, and Octavia, who's entire body is light shade of green.

"You are so hairy!" Octavia squeals as she rips off three layers of my skin along with any traces of hair. "Goodness, do you never  _shave?"_

I bite my tongue to prevent retorting that I've hardly been able to bathe my entire life, much less 'shave'. After a lifetime of being waxed, shaved, pulled, and left to dry, Octavia begins painting my nails black and Flavius picks up my sloopy braid.

"Who on earth did this?" He inquires.

"I did." I look at him blankly, refusing to be truly insulted by his judgement.

He surprises me, though. He breaks into a wide grin and holds it up for his fellow stylists, looking truly delighted.

"Is this not a piece of work!" He coos, his own hairstyle bouncing along with him. "Katniss, be a dear and redo it for me, just a bit tighter this time. It makes you look so...so..."

"Sophisticated!" Octavia squeals.

He nods eagerly in agreement as they shove my hands under some kind of drier that makes the nail polish stick the my nails almost instantly. Venia sets a mirror in front of me as they all gather around to watch carefully; my stomach twists as I shakily do as they ask. Obviously they see my nerves, because they keep crooning encouragements even though I know it looks like terrible. My mother used to have such careful, precise hands that could make even me look a little more than presentable.

After I've finished, Venia leads me to a similar white room, one with more light than in the one before. It's got a carpet and a small white robe is hanging up for me, though I get the feeling that's optional.

"Icarus shall be with you soon," she informs me simply.

"Who is Icarus?" I inquire.

"Your stylist," she explains, blushing slightly. "He's very,  _very_ skilled. He's promised a big surprise this year, one that'll make everyone rally on District 12!"

I briefly imagine Gale, bitter past his years, having this same conversation with one member of his prep team, scowling the entire time or rolling his eyes. I simply nod and she finally leaves, leaving me to pull on the robe and curl up on the metal table. The outfits for District 12 are usually just baggy pants and lanterns, since we're the coal mining District, and we're always ignored along with Districts Nine, Ten, and Eleven. The cameras and Sponsors always go for the Career Districts, and even occasionally those surrounding ones depending on the gaudiness of the first outfit in the Chariot Parade.

A man who's face I've seen at least one shot of on camera enters after what seems like hours. He's got dyed gray hair that's twisted back to look like a wig- I suppose he's going for an old fashioned kind of classy. His blue eyes pop out because of the black makeup all around his eyes, and his outfit consists of a fluffy shirt and stacks, a perfect example of how ridiculous the Capitol is.

"Hello," he says curtly in his strange accent. "My name is Icacrus le Ville, I will be your stylist."

He slowly walks around me in his heeled dress shoes, ones that my father would've loved to have. He smirks slightly as he toys with the end of my braid, looking pleased for many reasons.

"Yes, you and the boy will do nicely," he muses. "The strength and the determination of District Twelve."

"Determination?" I repeat. I look like the wind could push me over, even more so than Effie.

"Your scowl," he says dismissively. "You want to be a fighter, just like your District partner. It has...potential to be adorable, especially once my work is done with you."

The time period I was waiting for him must have actually been hours, because within a very short period of time I have gray, smokey makeup around my eyes and I'm standing almost completely naked on the Chariot. I have black pieces of cloth covering my breasts and lower regions, but I'm so caked in artificial soot that nobody can see that. Gale stands next to me like a fortress, his face wiped of emotion, not showing any evidence of modesty. I'm blushing despite myself- I've never been good with nudity- but I've had a lot of practice the past few months not letting my emotion leak onto my face for Prim's sake. I do that now as the parade begins.

I take the time being in the last of the line to look at my competition. District One consists of a small girl with dark, alert eyes, and a boy that's not massive, but has plenty of meat on his bones. District Two has a pair that's equally beefy and arrogant, and their similarities don't end there; I believe they're twins. District 3 offers a girl a year older than me with scars up and down her arms and a older boy with his head down. District Four catches my eye particularly- The girl is beautiful and thin, someone that I'd expect more along the lines of the Capitol without the hideous makeup. The boy isn't bad looking either, but he's young, only a year older than me and holding her hand tightly. To my alarm, she's holding it back boldly; they're allies already.

District Five and District Six both have fourteen through seventeen year olds, none of which dreaw much attention with their sunken faces. District Seven, however, has something unusual- two twelve years olds. They don't seem to know each other but look even more vulnerable standing on opposite ends; the girl is crying. Districts Eight, Nine, and Ten appeal to me as much as Districts Five and Six, and soon the District Eleven Chariot with a fifteen year old and an eighteen year old is pulling out.

"You nervous?" Gale isn't looking at me when he speaks but there's nobody else he could be talking to.

I consider not responding before saying simply, "Not of them."

He chuckles darkly as we advance toward the roaring crowd. "Of course you're not."

I'd like to know what that means, but it's so loud so suddenly I can hardly hear my own thoughts. I see the Capitolites looking to us for longer than they usually do, pointing and yelling things to each other. Gale stares straight ahead, but Haymitch told me that the key to survival is to get them to like me. If this is only time I'll ever have any type of their attention, I have to make the most of it. I begin to wave, trying to ignore the dust blowing everywhere and my braid coming loose. By the time we're all to President Snow, I'm sure I at least got one sympathetic vote.

President Snow stands before all of us, giving his usual speech in a ceremonial tone. "Tributes. We are gathered here today to celebrate your courage and sacrifice. This is sure to be a year full of excitement and loss. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

His eyes glance over to me the same way they do to the twelve year olds from Seven. They are not sympathetic but they are not mocking, and I can appreciate the latter. I don't want his pity. I don't want to ever see him again, but if I win, I'll have too.

As I'm uploaded and lead to our new rooms at the Training Center, I'm still trying to decide which one is worse.


	4. Part One, Chapter Three: Training

The first arrow I fire is close to the bullseye, but not close enough.

"That's much better than most of our tributes do," the man is charge of the station muses to me. "Why don't you try again?"

I nod, though I wasn't planning on leaving until I've emptied the quiver. All of the stations I've visited have managers who are trying too hard to baby me, to urge me along as if I'm like all the other twelve year olds from the past. The District Seven boy has been crying most of this time, and though I don't blame him, I haven't cried since my goodbyes to my family. As if I wasn't at a disposition enough being as young as I am, everyone is set on treating me like the boy.

I notch another arrow and pull back the string, firing the rest of the set until I manage a bullseye somewhere in between. The man is smiling wildly at me, seeming surprised and amused more than anything else.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that, little girl?" He inquires.

I avert my gaze from his. "I dunno."

My father, I think as I hurry away from him and toward the camouflage station. I feel like back in the woods in the center of this station, in the one where I belong, and if I close my eyes I can see myself again trying to get enough to survive off of for my sister and mother.

"Your bow skills are better than you let on." Gale is suddenly towering over me, his training shirt drenched in sweat. "What else have you been hiding from me?"

"Nothing that I know of," I reply curtly. I move to step around him but he moves with me, blocking me between a set of weights and himself.

"You're lying," he states simply.

"What's it to you, anyway?" I can force my gaze to his, but the way he's staring at me so cynically makes me feel even more ridiculous in my double braids and suit that hangs loosely around my frame.

"Everyone here is under the impression that you're some weak, helpless girl from District 12." He glances up and I follow his eyes to the area high above where the Gamemakers sit. My stomach rolls as a few of them stare right at me for a bit before turning off to someone else. "You have to prove to them you're not."

"What would that prove other than that I'm a target?" I ask coldly.

"You're already a target. Everyone thinks you'll die at the Cornocopia. Most twelve year olds do." He scowls in return. "I'm just trying to help you."

"Why?" I keep my face emotionlesss, though my heart is pounding in my ears.

If I do anything out of the ordinary, the other tributes will think I'm dangerous and will come after me. My best bet is to blend in with the other twenty three tributes until the Games begin, where I'll likely die at the bloodbath regardless. Nothing can save me now and I know that. It's just how things are, and the more I try to fight them the less I will make my promise worth.

"Because my I know we're both going to die and I want you to at least have a chance to make it past the first night," he snaps. "Why won't you just listen to me? I know what the hell I'm talking about."

"You're older than me. It doesn't mean you know anything more than the rest of us." I step around him swiftly, while he's stunned, and try to lose myself in the crowd.

I probably just made him want to kill me more, and even thought that's terrifying in itself, what's done is done. I don't run into him for the rest of the day, at least until we're led back to the penthouse. Effie is fussing over how we'll need to begin preparing for the interviews tonight after dinner, but I don't plan on attending. I doubt Gale will, either.

"Did you two learn anything at training?" Haymitch slurrs from where he's sprawled out on the couch.

I move to walk past him, but he grips my arm like a vice before I can. His breath reeks as he pulls me closer, growling, "I asked a question, sweetheart."

"Not really," I say curtly. "May I go now?"

He grunts in my ear and lets me go, allowing me to stumble back to my room. I sleep early that night, not bothering myself with eating with everyone else and rather just invading the displays once everyone else is asleep. I'm already gaining weight; the Capitol food has many more nutrients than any of the food I've had before, so even though it causes me stomach pain, I can afford the extra pounds.

Effie rises me before the sun the next day, insisting we begin on interview training and scolding me for not letting her begin on me last night. I'm put through hours of balancing in heels and trying to walk in dresses, neither of which I can actually do. I do training the rest of the morning and afternoon trying to forget Effie's screeching to me, which was more annoying than insulting.

While I'm eating lunch at one of the tables alone, just like I did yesterday, the boy from Seven approachs me. Even compared to me he looks painfully thin, and he doesn't look like he's figured out how to do the complex grooming units here yet. His black curls fall in front of his face as he bows his head to me, looking as helpless as Prim.

"Can I...eat with you?" He requests quietly.

"What about your District partner?" I ask, not glancing up from eating my apple.

"I don't think she likes me very much." He shifts uneasily in place. "I mean...If you don't want too, that's okay."

The way he's blushing reminds me of Peeta, who showed so much kindness to me and my family. I slowly nod, averting my gaze as he hastily sits down and begins gulping down his own lunch. He's obviously still very nervous, but I don't blame him.

"You're..." Suddenly he's stopped eating, staring at me with wide brown eyes. "Catnip, right?"

"Katniss." I correct quietly. I feel slightly guilty; I don't know what his name is at all.

"I'm...I'm Tetri," he says cautiously. "Um...I'm not saying we  _have_ to be an alliance, b-but.."

He falters and bows his head, obviously ashamed again. I consider it; I'd never want to kill him, but if I got down to the two of us, I would have to if I wanted to come home to Prim. We'll likely never get to that point, however, so it could potentially be safe. Reversely, he could be setting me up to kill me, but he certainly doesn't act like he has anything violent in him.

"We'll see," I finally decide. I stand up quickly and turn my back. "The Personal Training Assessment will tell more about us than we could to each other."

That night back at the penthouse, I stay in the main room, watching the Reapings for the first time, as I avoided them when got on the train. From District One, the small girl with attentive eyes is emotionless climbing on the stage, her long dark hair tied back in a bun as she stares at the entire audience. She almost looks nervous, but the determination on her face is a clear indication she was not Reaped for no reason. There are no volunteers, which is extremely surprising, but that seems to be forgotten by the audience when they surge for the male spot. Obviously the boy with meat on his bones I saw during the Chariot Rides was the one who fought his way beside the escort first, but it wasn't easy. I briefly try to imagine the starving people in my District doing that and fail; 'tribute' and 'corspe' are synonymous in District 12.

The two twins from District Two boldly volunteer together, two massive eighteen year olds with blonde hair and blue eyes. Their names are Strap and Sterling; I debate which one is more vicious briefly. The girl from District Three, the one who's older than me by a year, sticks out like a sore thumb in the crowd even before her name- Veria- is called. She has a ton of black makeup on, she's deathy pale, and she's got a pair of gray cords in her ears, bobbing her head to whatever she's listening to in the small box in her pocket as she's pulled on stage. I notice all the scars on her arms and legs under the thinly done dress, however, and how nobody will look at her directly. Even the boy tribute, who looks like they could be related somehow, all but refuses to shake her hand at the end of the ceremony.

She's obviously one of the outcasts of the District, to which I can relate. Those of us from the Seam have always been treated poorly, and those families have hopelessly poor as mine are shunned.

The District Four catches my once again, this time with one of the former Victors. Her name is Annie Cresta, and when her name was called, she shakily walked to the stage in tears. She was instantly embraced by Finnick Odair, who was the youngest person to win the Hunger Games at fourteen, which was five years ago. When the boy, thirteen like the girl from District Three, came on stage, Annie pulled him into their hug tightly. None of them let go until they were pried apart by the Peacekeepers, and only a few members of the crowd before them look surprised.

I fast forward to the District Seven Reaping, where the girl is shaking as she climbs on the stage. She's not trying to hide her terror but she is withholding tears, which was likely wise. Her name, I notice, is Hallow, and when they do a pan of the crowd in search of her family, nobody is standing near her with prominent tears other than a dark-haired woman in her thirties or forties, and they don't look related at all. When Tetri is called more people cry, though they're almost all little kids huddled around a lumbering man and woman with tight faces. None of them look related, but by the small stars pinned to the front of that small group's shirts, they're bonded by something other than blood.

"You looked brave when you were Reaped." I turn around to see Haymitch staring at me in the doorway, looking almost sober for the first time. "I get the impression that wasn't intentional."

I turn back to the screen and fast forward again, all the way to the District 12 Reapings. When my name is called, the cameras find me quickly, zooming in on my expression. My eyes are wide and on tiny little Prim, who is already sobbing. None the less I go onto the stage, and even I can tell I was trying not to cry by the way I move.

"That doesn't look brave," I inform my mentor. "Gale looks brave. He had no emotion on his face at all."

"He looks like a robot." He scowls and plops down heavily beside me. "He's also reckless. I was watching you two today during training; he's nothing but brute force. He won't make it past the Cornucopia and he'll go down fighting. You've got more a chance than him."

"I'm twelve," I remind him tightly. "Twelve year olds never make it past the first night, especially not from Twelve."

"Twelve year olds are supposed to be sniveling cowards who try too hard." He suddenly grabs my arm and yanks me closer. "You're one of those who don't stick out at all, even though you're way too young for this. You're careful. I've seen you go out into the woods just before I crash for the day. You can survive."

My eyes widen as my stomach rolls. "You've seen me go into the woods?"

"I'm the only one up at those hours, kid. I used to see your father go out, too. You're his daughter, it was only a matter of time before you followed in his footsteps." He snorts. "The point is, kid, your father taught you more things than even you realize. I'm going to train you privately tomorrow after Effie finishes teaching you to be a 'little lady'."

"Why would you want to do it privately?" I ask curtly, though I feel a little grateful for his concern. "What about Gale?"

"Like I said.." He stands above me, briefly looking vaguely like someone who could actually have won the Hunger Games. "He won't make it past the first night."

He trudges off, looking annoyed but solemn. I slowly get to my own feet and peer briefly into Gale's room, where I find him throwing pins at a picture of a Capitol woman on the wall. He looks as he always does- angry, full of rage, but also tired from living.

"You were listening to that, weren't you?" I finally say.

He doesn't look at me as he sticks another dart in the picture's 'face'. "No. But he already talked to me. Said I didn't have a chance with my damn attitude or skills."

"Did you believe him?" I refrain from stepping in fully, but I do lean closer.

"Of course not. The damned old drunk doesn't know what the hell he's talking about." He gets down to one dart in his clenched fist. "If he offered you training, just decline it. He can't teach us shit."

He used the word 'us.'

"Maybe he can," I point out. "He won the Games once."

"Do what you want, then," he snaps. He turns toward me and throws the dart, and if I wasn't quick to the door, he probably would've taken out my eye.

I shouldn't make enemies right now and I know that, but as I go back to my room, I swear revenge.


	5. Part One, Chapter Four: Single Evaluations

As we're all waiting for our names to be called for our personal training assessments, I notice how none of the tribute pairs are truly sitting together. We've seemed to have sorted ourselves based on age and classification- the Career pack, those from One, Two, and Four, are all conversing in mutters to each other, and everyone else stays in mini groups. Gale has gone off with a boy from Six, one who's seventeen and seems to be pretty aggressive, so I awkwardly seat myself beside my fellow twelve year olds, the ones from Seven.

"Hey...Katniss?" Tetri asks quietly not long after I sit.

Hallow looks up as well when he speaks, her brown eyes reflecting sadness like Prim's did. I get the feeling she wants to be allies with him, but she's also very afraid, even of him.

"Yes?" I reply simply.

"Who do you think will be the most deadly?" His own brown eyes flicker to the other twenty one tributes.

I glance over them all again, more briefly than I did watching the Reapings last night. "The Career Pack is always the most dangerous. The boy from District Ten looks like he could be really strong, but I'm not sure about intelligence."

He nods quietly and falls silently. Hallow speaks up after the District Two girl is called in, her voice uncertain but not timid.

"The District Four girl is nice," she informs us, though her tone is a murmur. "She helped me out in the handmade weapons section yesterday. She's very skilled at making fishhooks."

"District Four is the fishing district," Tetri adds softly.

Both of them turn to me and I tense on instinct. They obviously want me to contribute to the conversation- I think they both want me as an ally, but though I'm not all for that idea, I'm not totally against it. We all seem like we'd be able to the same in the arena, as we're all no strangers to starvation or harsh conditions.

"One of the past Victors is going to help her." I finally force out. "What about your mentors?"

Hallow looks like she's about to respond instantly, but she glances into my eyes for a moment and seals her lips back tightly. Tetri fidgets as well, glancing at me like he's a deer compared to a bear.

"We have six," he says. "But none of them are very good, so none of them will probably help. What...what about...yours?"

I shake my head, trying to be as vague as possible. Haymitch did take me in for private training this morning, and in that session he gave me several tips about survival, such as how water will be my best friend in the arena and how fire is extremely dangerous unless there's an excellent hiding spot far, far away from the other tributes. Right after that my brain was numbed by Effie's fussing over me, so I'm not sure I can remember anything else of what he said.

"Hallow Erans." The speaker says drolly, making all three of us jump briefly. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts I didn't realize the crowd of tributes slowling thinning around us.

She stands up stiffly. She's wearing a braid as well, though hers is single and down her back, but it's coming undo rapidly as she walks stiffly toward the door. I reach out instinct and grab her shoulder; maybe it's because her hair is blonde or she's trying so hard to be brave, but she's reminded me of Prim and I feel the overwhelming urge to help her.

"Here." I stand and take her braid, unfastening and refashioning the lower half with my own clumsy fingers as quickly as I can.

"Hallow Erans." The owner of the speaker's voice repeats, sounding extremely impatient.

I pull the braid a final time to tighten it and retie the end, letting go of her instantly. She turns back to look at me, then apparently thinks different of it and rushes ahead. Almost everyone is looking at me as I reseat myself and duck my head down, not even thinking of lifting my gaze until I feel like everyone has lost interest in my strange act of kindness. From watching the others and seeing reports on the television each year, I know that the Gamemakers and Peacekeepers constantly have to keep tributes from trying to kill each other before the Games. Other than light allies or being in the Career pack, there is nothing kind among tributes in the Games. What I just did was extremely rare and dangerous.

"That was very kind," Tetri says softly. "I...I thought she got upset when I didn't eat with her yesterday, so I was thinking about an alliance with her."

He doesn't have to say anymore to hear his unspoken question.

"Yes," I tell him. "She'd make a good ally, especially if she has any talent in the areas you lack in."

His eyes light up a bit, I note from looking to him out of the corner of my eye. "Well, I'm pretty good at the medicines and foods, and she seemed to really like the weapon stations...Do you think she'd be good at fighting?"

"How intelligent is she?" I respond.

He considers this and his face falls. "I don't really know, but I think she's average like me."

There's another unspoken question behind that. Before I can configure a response, his own name is called- Tetri Young is his full name- and I'm left sitting on a bench alone. I instinctively retreat toward the back of the room, though that's where Gale is now sitting alone, and press myself into the furthest corner from everyone else. I get a few more glances but nothing more, at least until Gale and I are the only ones left.

"What are you going to show them?" He asks me in a grunt, not looking toward me.

"I don't know." I was planning on archery, but I doubt I'm skilled enough to really impress them.

"You should show them how handy you are with a bow. It's better than I could do when I was twelve. Shit, in a year or so it'll be better than me now." He chuckles without humour. "All I know how to do is set traps. Maybe that will pull me by."

"What types of traps?" I glance to him now.

"Why would I tell you that?" His tone is instantly cold, resentful. "I wouldn't want you to use that against me."

The sudden cold shoulder offends me, but we both know that's not a justified emotion. That's all I've been doing to him the past three days despite his futile efforts to help save me. Silence consumes us, leaving me to consider what to do about Tetri and Hallow further, at least until my name is called.

"Katniss." I don't stop walking or turn when he says my name after the speaker, but I listen to what he says and I get the feeling he knows I am. "You say your name more loudly this time. Wouldn't want to be known as 'Catnip Everdeen'."

I smile without amusement and keep that playing on my lips as I'm lead by two Peacekeepers in order to mask my terror. If anything this just seems to make me think I'm deranged, because they stare at me until I've gone to the center of the large room I've been taken in to and faced the panel of Gamemakers high above me. They all look slightly amused, but they're all blantly tired from the other tributes before me.

"You have fifteen minutes to show us your skills," the Head Gamemaker, Arcadian Greel, monotones. "Good luck, little girl."

I glance away from his judgmental, precise face to pick up one of the bows, which is far too big for me. I manage to get it up against my shoulder, however, and notch it, quickly firing my first arrow with almost everything shaking with nerves. It hits nowhere near the target and a few of the Gamemakers chuckle, but their looking away annoys me a bit. Even though I know it's pointless to feel like I do, at least from a logical standpoint, their knowledge of how small my chances are of surviving their arena and amusement toward it is extremely provoking.

I notch another arrow and fire blindly, not even managing to hit the target. Before I know it I'm down to one arrow and I've been informed I only have one more minute left. I'm drenched in sweat and still shaking as they all dine above me, not even Aracdian paying mind to me now despite having gotten at least seven semi-near or on the bullseye. I consider putting away the bow but decide to fire the shot, if for nothing else than to guarantee I fulfilled my promise of attempting with my all to Prim. I just close my eyes and fire blindly, amusing myself with the thought it will hit one of the Peacekeepers who think I'm insane as they re-enter.

A horrible cracking sound splits through the air, making me jump and drop the huge bow. All eyes are suddenly glued to me again, but I'm running too quickly to see their faces. My heart is pounding my ears as I tear into the lobby of the Training Centre, my footsteps sounding like thunder all the way up the flights of stairs until I eventually collapse around set eight or nine.

I'm not thinking about my flying retreat right now, though. All I can in my mind is the image of the last arrow I shot, flying at a precise angle and telescoping the arrow closest to the middle.


	6. Part One, Chapter Five: The Interviews

I'm in a shimmery black dress that comes around my thighs, which doesn't compliment my frail features. In addition, I'm stuck in a pair of gray high heels that wrap around my knees, and my hair is pinned up in a french braid. I feel ridiculous, and by the way I can hardly stay on my feet just standing, I look it as well.

Gale is a lot more presentable, clad in a loose fitting gray top and black slacks. His hair is gelled back, which I can't imagine he appreciates, and he stands beside me like a board. Neither of us are in the mood for conversation; our chance at allying with each other isn't possible. In front of us, Hallow is wearing an elaborate, ball gown type dress that was obviously made to look like a tree, proven by the leaf barrettes in her hair and 'roots' wrapped around her arms. Tetri looks similar, save a dress that's replaced by a suit that's way too big for him.

All twenty four of us tributes stand in a line, Gale and I at the back, waiting for our last chance at Sponors before the Games begin tomorrow morning. Most of us are fidgety and impatient, but for the most part I'm trying to remain expressionless. We all have a read on each other at this point, and I don't want to give away any more signs of weakness than I likely already have. I can't afford any more mistakes like the act of kindness I showed to Hallow, even if it was only for a small portion of the other tributes.

I hear the District One girl being called first- Gem Netlee- and turn toward the small screen. Her interview goes by smoothly, and I make a mental note that she's using the 'lovely' interview angle. Haymitch mentioned to me once that I had to choose an angle myself so I can give the audience a message about myself, but I can't think of one that I'd be able to pull off. The audience loves Gem, at least, and they don't seem to notice how she can hardly stay still in the seat, how her expression tightens every time she looks at Caeser Flickerman with his elaborate sea-green hair. By the time she flounces down, I'm under the impression she likes the Capitol about as much as I do.

The District One boy, Karat, is completely arrogant, and by the way he talks about his years of training, he's a definite person to avoid despite his cockiness. Strap and Sterling, the eighteen year old twins from District Two, both seem intimidating, clenching their fists, all but growling when Caeser mention their other competitors.

"And how do you feel about three twelve year olds in one game?" Caeser asks at one point to Sterling.

She gives a wicked grin, one that suggests she'd rather eat us than 'compete'. "Those will be fun to use."

Use. Gale glances down at me when she says this and I harden my expression instantly while my stomach preforms a dance rountine inside of me.

Veria looks shockingly dark again, a large gray dress fashioned around her body and dark makeup making her pale face look almost attractive. I notice that the sleeves of her dress are long enough to cover the scars up and down her arms, which everyone saw at the Reaping, and there is so much makeup across her legs you can't really see them, either.

Like me, she doesn't seem to really have an angle. She's primarily quiet, and Caeser made one comment about her being 'bold but shy', so apparently she kind of pulled off a meek angle. Her District partner, Haimon, admitted to being her second cousin, but when he's asked about their relationship, he dismissed it. I absently wonder if that stung to Veria to have her family disown her publicly like that; I don't have enough family to truly disown me, and if they did, it would mean my death.

I don't pay very much attention until Hallow's name is called. She crosses the stage, the terror on her face evident, but the audience doesn't seem to mind or see as they clap for her. As she sits one of her barrettes loosens, causing a strand of her hair to flop in front of her face and make her cheeks color bright red.

"So, Hallow.." Caeser mused, not missing a beat. "How are you enjoying your stay in the Capitol?"

"It's so big!" Suddenly she's not a girl who's embarrassed and scared of her wits. Suddenly she's excited, almost like this is the privilege the Capitol makes it out to be. "I've never seen so many tall buildings!"

Everyone shares a chuckle at that in audience. "Is that so? Which do you think is the most impressive?" Caeser purrs.

"Um...The Training Center!" She chirps eagerly, widening her eyes. "And the food is so good!"

"We have got quite the selection, right folks?" He grins to the audience, who roar in approval. "I am certainly glad you are enjoying your visit with us, Hallow. Do you feel like you've been properly groomed for the Games, however?"

She falters and I feel sympathy. That's the problem with not owning up to yourself and pulling a guise. Even my constant repression of my emotions fails and I'm left vulnerable and exposed.

"I hope so! I mean, we'll see what happens, right?" She stumbles to recover, giving him a large, unnerved smile.

"That's the spirit!" He declares, earning cheers and applause. "What can we expect from you, then? You seem to be full of surprises as it is. Why, I thought we could count you out as too afraid, but I've been proven wrong, it seems! Right, folks?"

Everyone roars in approval and Hallow offers a meek smile. "Well...I'm pretty quick, and kind of strong from chopping wood."

"Do you believe you have what it takes to win, then?" He reaches out and touches her hand, and something inside of me stirrs. Maybe there's some way that some Capiolites genuinely care about the fate of us tributes, if not feel sympathy.

"We'll see, I guess." Her voice breaks just as the buzzers sounds, but Caeser is quick to move her off with a large, encouraging flourish.

Before he goes up, I notice Tetri looking back at me. I give him an attempt at a smile and he returns the favor before he's led onto the stage for his interview. Like Hallow, he transforms into a completely different person when he's up there, turning into someone who's nothing but a comedian.

"Everything here is convenient; I could practically pack up my room in my pocket!" He says at one point, leaving some of the audience in stiches.

After a moment of banter between her and Ceaser, though, the move gets a lot more serious.

"You are one of three twelve year olds Reaped this year, son," our interviewer muses, giving his leg a brief pat. "How does this make you feel, especially being the only boy?"

A few members of the audience make sympathetic sounds as his face shifts into something much more grave. "I...I really don't to hurt either of them. They've both been so kind to me."

"And what do you feel you would do if it came down to killing either of them?" Caeser asks solemnly.

Tetri's expression falls completely and looks out helplessly toward the cameras. Even though I know it's impossible, I try to send him a telepathic message, trying to express what I need him to say. An alliance between tributes doesn't last long but it's sweet; alliances between District partners are truly rare. They'd think so much of them and pity them, Hallow and Tetri together. A 'runt' from District Twelve is expendable.

"I...I guess I'd want to kill Hallow the least," he finally decides.

He looks like he wants to say more, but the buzzer sounds. Maybe telepathy truly works.

One by one, the other tributes step up, showing off a variety of angles. Some are better actors than others, which is to be expected. I'll be one of the ones desperately scrambling for something to act us, like the girl from District Ten. I'm just inwardly grateful for Hallow and Tetri being exceptional at acting themselves.

I'm suddenly on the steps, being pushed delicately forward by a frantically whispering Effie; she's saying something about my posture and smiling. I don't respond, I just stumble out onto the stage, failing to actually walk in the outfit they forced me into. The lights are suddenly right on me, practically blinding me as I struggle to get to the interviewer. He's smiling ridiculously, and before I know it, his surprisingly large hands have helped me balance in my last few steps and have plopped me down on my chair. The audience is suddenly cooing and cheering louder, even as I nearly punch him trying to keep him off.

"Those heels are a bit big on you, aren't they, Miss Everdeen?" He laughs brightly, playfully, as he sits back down.

My face flushes. "Um...maybe it can't be helped. I have two left feet."

The audience chuckles and I push away my short bangs from my face, trying to hide the blush that paints my face. Caeser gives me a grin. "May I say, you look absolutely stunning! If I didn't know any better, I'd say the boys would be pounding on your door!"

Everyone laughs again and I manage a weak chuckle. "Oh, I'm not that impressive."

He smiles wider. "Oh, I don't believe it for a second!"

The audience roars happily and my flush deeps. "Y-" I fumble. "You should see the rest of my family. They're beautiful, and my sister is only eight."

He puts a hand to his earpiece. "Can we show a picture, then? I have to see this for myself!"

I mentally scold myself. They're going to show a picture of how I'm fighting for, and...Dread replaces the scolding. They're going to see my father isn't there, and everyone is going to know that we're not well fed, even in my mother's care. Prim will be taken away from her and be crushed in the community home even sooner than I originally dreaded.

The screen lights behind me with a picture of my mother and sister. My eyes widen in alarm for a minute before I force my expression to wipe clean; they look nothing as they are. The only pictures we had were poorly taken and had to be filled in by granite because of the horrible quality, but this one was taken by someone much more skilled, someone likely from the Capitol. My mother looks much younger, her age photo shopped out to make her appear in her mid-twenties, maybe early thirties. She's as beautiful as people always said she was. Prim's eyes are an even more brilliant blue than they actually are, her hair is neatly combed a vibrant blonde, and she's not nearly as pale. The most prominent change about both of them, however, is the fact that neither of them look like they're starving. As a matter of fact, Prim almost seems on the chubby side.

Anger ripples through my veins and blinds my vision. I'm suddenly on my feet, whipping around the glare at the screen. My fists are clenched so tightly they're cutting into my skin, and I feel my braid coming loose from the sharp motion. Everyone gasps a bit and begins to murmur around me.

"Miss Everdeen, do you not like your family?" Caesar says quickly, his tone even and purposeful as he tries to calm down the shifting crowd.

I slowly turn back around, setting my jaw firmly back in place. I try to smear the expression off of my face before I speak again. "I love them more than anything."

The anxious mutters slowly fade to sounds of almost sympathy. My interviewer takes my hand, rising himself. "And do you believe you can win for them?"

The buzzer goes off, ending my torment, at least for the most part. "I promised my little sister I'd really, really try."

"And try you will." Caeser says solemnly, helping me back on my feet in one smooth motion. "Ladies and gentlemen, Katniss Everdeen!"

Everyone applauds my efforts, which I do kind of appreciate. As I stumble down the stairs, I see Effie's wide eyed gaze briefly before someone grabs me and pulls me out of my shoes- literally. I bring my knee up to my captivator's chest area, causing him to gasp loudly and drop me. Upon stumbling backwards I see Haymitch bend at the weight, holding part of his chest and wheezing.

"No bad, kid," he gasps. "But I'm not going into the arena with you."

"You shouldn't have grabbed me." My braid falls completely free and down my back.

"You made a fool of yourself!" Effie squeals. "But oh darling, it was adorable! The Capitol loves you, you'll be getting plenty of Sponsors! Why, my dear, you may actual survive the first night!"

"Thanks," I mutter, looking toward the screen.

Gale is completely stoic, and I doubt that he'll receive the dramatic praise I just did via Effie. I head toward the elevator quickly, trying to disregard the fact that Haymitch is following close behind me. Before the doors slide shut, another smaller form slips in, revealing a blushing, sweating Tetri.

"I-I'm so sorry!" He sputters. "I didn't mean it, I swear!"

"You did what you had to do to make them like you. I would have done the same thing." I reach out and gently squeeze his hand. "Don't worry about it."

He shifts nervously but nods. "So, are we going to...Find each other tomorrow?"

I consider it. I'm going to be a prime target tomorrow, especially because of my training score. I'm honestly surprised that Caeser didn't bring it up.

"Most people wouldn't want to ally with a girl with a ten for a personal training score. They're going to kill me first." I shake my head.

He smiles weakly. "Join the club."

I smile grimly as we reach his floor. Before he steps off, he does something I don't expect- he plants a light kiss on my cheek before all but dashing off. I share a stunned expression with Haymitch before he sighs.

"If you're going to make a mistake like that, the least you can do is keep him alive for an hour," he decides.

I decide I can live with that.


	7. Part One, Chapter Seven: The Cornucopia

I slept last night, much better than I should have, but when I woke in the early morning I was instantly hit with the terrible, crippling anxiety I should have been kept up with seven hours ago. I pace back and forth in my room until Effie's knocking echoes, signaling it's time for me to go the Icarus and the rest of my stylists to get ready to enter the arena.

I catch a last glimpse of my reflection once I'm dried from my presumably last shower. I've gained a little weight very quickly, which shows promptly on my underfed figure, but that will be worked off by tomorrow night if I survive that long. I pull on a random black dress, as I don't want them to disregard my Reaping outfit and never send it back to my home, and I go to try and force down a final meal.

"We've decided on a single braid for you, Katniss." Venia informs me cheerfully around fifteen minutes later. "I'm sure you'd like to  _look_ a bit older, yes?"

I nod once, the hot chocolate and large muffin I managed swirling inside of me. I really should have eaten more, but it's too late now, and at least I will have been killed with something that tasted good still in my digestive system. Icarus watches from all angles as my stylists dress me in clothes too warm for the May weather: A set of wool-type boots, thick pants with wool that clings to my legs, and three layers of padding on my upper torso, all held together tightly by the enormous jacket.

"Did you have a token?" Octavia inquires as she gives me a slow spin, evaluating her work.

I think back to when I was saying my final goodbyes, where Madge offered me her Mockingjay pin and Peeta and I shared cookies. "No."

"Wonderful, then." Flavius lets out a sigh that's full of sadness that sounds genuine. "Oh, darling. You would have had so much more potential as a little star."

They've all accepted the inevitability of my death, at least. As I go where they point, nearly waddling in the thickness of my clothes, I'm met by Haymitch, who ceases my arm and begins to quicken my pace toward the door. Beyond that door a hovercraft will be waiting for me to take all of us tributes to the final facility that serves as somewhere to hold the entrance to the arena.

"You seem to be a big hurry to get me out there," I say with more of a bitter tone that I intended. "I thought you were the one who wanted me alive the most."

"We all have our ways of coping, sweetheart." I sigh, and I notice that for the time I've ever seen him, his eyes are nearly completely clear of the fogginess that come with drunkenness and hangovers. "Listen. Remember what I taught you and you will be fine. You have what it takes to survive in there."

I meet his nearly sober eyes as we get to the door, curling my fingers into light fists. "Thank you, Haymitch."

He gives me a faint, crooked ghost of a smile and pushes the doors open, exposing us both fully to the whirling blades of the hovercraft. Two Peacekeepers flank me as I stumble in with the other tributes; once again we seem to be sorted randomly among ourselves, but the only open seat is between Hallow and the girl from District Three, Veria. It's not long after I sit down that I feel the ground beneath us shift, indicating we're airborne.

We don't sit there for very long, motionless and silent, before two Capiloties in relatively boring gray uniforms go down the two rows of twelve, blandly demanding for our arms and injecting something within them. When the woman gets to me, I recoil instantly, staring into her practically lifeless eyes as I clench my hands again.

"What is that?" I ask tightly.

"A tracker." She says nothing more before grabbing my arm herself, jamming a point into the underside until it beeps in approval and something hot sinks in much deeper than my skin; I try not to flinch too badly.

As we land, I try to focus on the good things that have happened in my life. Trips into the woods with my father. My mother braiding my hair and telling us stories before and after she met my father and moved to the Seam. Prim's constant smile and the brightness in her eyes. I remind myself of these things as we are taken through double doors in a humongous building, (each double door pair had the number of our district on it in a large yellow writing,) forcing me beside Gale one last time. He glances down at me but I won't look at him for fear I'll choke myself up on my emotion.

Icarus is waiting for me in the small room that contains a cylindrical container, the metal ring at the body proving that's the platform that will take me to the arena. He straights out my jacket and pulls straps along my pants, tightening them enough to make movement less clumsy for me.

"Thank you," I tell him quietly. He and the other stylists have helped me in the one way they know, and I'm not ungrateful for that.

"I agree with Flavius," he says in response, his tone much weaker than when I first met him. "You had so much potential."

"I'm not dead yet." I point this out, but if Capitolies can see how little of a chance I have of making it out of the Cornucopia in one piece, my quiet efforts to attract Sponsors have obviously failed.

He responds to my statement with a vaguely sad smile as a woman's monotone voice informs us I have thirty seconds to enter the tube. I have the urge to hug him- he's the last human I'll see that I won't want to kill or who doesn't want to kill me- but turn away from him instead, stepping onto the metal platform. I'm aware of his eyes on me those last twenty five seconds, right until the thick glass closes around me and the circle under me begins to lift me up.

I want to scream. I want to cry and plead for mercy. I want to act like a stereotypical twelve year old in the face of certain death- really, like  _any_ person when forced into a dangerous, lethal situation- but I don't give in to my instincts. I stand straight in the way my father called proud and squint in the light as it pours back into my vision.

_Welcome to the Hunger Games._

* * *

 

The arena is artificial, but it seems entirely real. We're all standing in a circle above clear, sparkling water, but not far behind where we're all waiting, white sand awaits. Around the entirety of the lake we've been set in, there are hundreds- probably miles of- trees, with a large mountain taking up the back space. It is far away but not unreachable, and with the sharply cold temperatures, the heavy clothing makes more sense. In the center of our wide circle the Cornucopia awaits, seeming much more inviting than it ever did just seeing it from a television screen. It's like a small training center and buffet in one, holding the supplies all of us will need to get through the next couple of weeks.

"Sixty." A man reads in a weird voice, one that's very altered by a machine. "Fifty nine. Fifty eight. Fifty seven. Fifty six."

I give the other tributes each another glance. Surprisingly enough, they don't seem any more intimidating than they did initially, even the pack of bloodthirsty Careers. We're all just a group of randomly selected teenagers, (technically exceeding Tetri, Hallow, and I,) who are being forced to kill each other if it means our own lives are spared. All of us are terrified.

"Forty. Thirty nine. Thirty eight."

I find Tetri, who is shaking so badly I fear he'll fall off his place and be blown up by the mines around us. Not too far from him is Hallow, who isn't much better off at masking her terror; both of them completely contrast Veria and the boy from District Four, who, despite being only a year older than us, seem entirely emotionless as they stare into the clear water beneath us.

"Twenty. Nineteen."

I imagine my family back in District Twelve and wonder if they are faring at all right now. Maybe, by some miracle, they are sitting in our threadbare little home, huddled together in terror as they count these final seconds with me. I long for my father the most I ever have at moment, for their sake. I need him to be there with them to keep them alive.

"Fifteen."

No, I need him here with me. To give me courage.

"Thirteen."

I look up again toward Gale, who's as expressionless as ever, but there is anger leaking out around his features. His fists are clenched as he nearly glares at the water, probably his own reflection.

"Ten. Nine. Eight."

I refuse to look my own reflection. I look up the sky, which is clear despite the cold temperatures. This would be, as my father would say, the picture weather for hunting.

"Five. Four."

My father. I'll be reunited with him and Prim in death soon.

"Three."

I picture his face, which I resemble so much.

"Two."

Prim and our mother enter the picture and I close my eyes to concentrate on it better.

"One."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Claudis Templesmith announces into the microphone that echoes across the entire arena. "Let the 70th Annual Hunger Games begin!"

I can almost hear the Capiolities' thundering applause as most of the tributes dive straight into the water, not thinking twice about their heavy clothing. I turn around and notice that the shore is closer to our starting plates than the Cornucopia, and that if I hit it first I'll have a small head start from the others. I pull off the enormous jacket first and the third layer of my shirts, balling them up in my hands and throwing them as hard as I can to the other side. Half of them make it and I dive in after them, which proves to be a better idea than I'd originally thought; the lake is a lot deeper than it appears.

Once I feel the soaked sand beneath me, I scramble to stand, snatching my clothes and running as fast I can for the cover the trees while provide. There are sounds of metal clashing and screaming behind me, but I just try to focus on moving and breathing. There's suddenly a scream, one that's nearly in my ear; I trip and crash to the ground, breathing hard and struggling uselessly to regain my footing.

Hallow is stumbling toward me, clutching her hip and coughing hard. I become even more desperate to find my footing again, which I finally manage enough to stumble over to her. Blood gushes through her fingers covering the wound, especially as she falls to her knees and drops something on top of my feet.

"You have get pressure off of that.." I stutter, though I don't know nearly enough how about medical things as the rest of my family. "We...we've got to get out of here."

"I'm not going to make it..." She whispers, her voice broken and raspy. "T...Tetri..."

"Don't say that!" I say forcefully, more loudly than I should have. "You're going to make it! I...I pr-promise."

As I begin to pull her to her feet, stumbling on both of our weight, the cold air begins to bite into the layers covering my body. Something warm begins to streak down my pants and I try to ignore it as she finally stands, leaning heavily on me as I begin toward, going as fast I can with her. I scraped up my knees and hands when I fell, of course, which isn't helping to improve the gruesome situation we're both in now. We're not an hour into the Games, and if another tribute was to spot us, we'd both be dead easily.

"B...bow..." She rasps again, turning her head back. I look back myself and see what she'd dropped on my feet; it's a bow, large and lean, like a newer version of the ones my father crafted himself.

"H-how? Why?" I ask, stunned as I reach back and grip it tightly.

"Cornucopia.." She responds with a weak, ghostly smile. "Went in and...thought about how good you were with one."

She erupts in another fit of coughing and use my free hand to muffle it as best I can, which makes her slide to the ground along with myself. I continue to grip the bow for dear life as she shudders, looking up at him with red, teary eyes.

"Leave me.." Her voice is thick, but she's still wearing a ghostly smile. "You...You'll win for me."

"I'm not leaving you," I state firmly. I can't, not when she's so pure, not when she's reminded me of how I used to take care of-

Prim. I feel my heart numb and hollow as it sinks in what both of them have now told me. Prim wants me to win, and I promised her I'd really, really try. If I have Hallow slowing me down, I'm a lot less likely too, and I'm not trying my hardest. Hallow knew that even before I did.

"Just...win for me." She bends over and lets out a choked up sob.

If I speak I'll cry, so I grab her shoulders instead, struggling to get somewhere relatively clear. We stumble until the artificial sky is filled with brilliant, bright colors, signaling it will dark very soon. I stumble again, bringing us both to the ground, and I hear something pop before a light burning sensation fills my ankle. I bite down on my tongue to silence the noise of pain I emit, but soon after I realize that my ankle is suspended in a small pocket of dirt. I carefully pull it out and stick both of my hands in, pushing against either side and finding it loosely packed. Slowly, I reach in further and find nothing but air beyond the length of my arm.

"D-dugout?" Hallow whispers beside me, both of her hand covering her wound. Her hair is wildly splayed and she's breathing very shallowly; she's lost too much blood, but I don't know how to fix her wound.

I nod in agreement, tearing at the dirt more quickly until I've made a hole big enough for us to ease through. I slide her in first and she confirms the bottom is around three feet in depth from ground level. I fit myself in as well but keep my head, squinting in the darkness to find something to use as cover. All I can find are leaves and branches, which I know I can't apply while I'm still in the hideout.

"I'll keep watch," I decide, crawling out carefully. "You need to rest. Try to keep pressure off your wound."

"What if someone sees you?" She chokes out, her voice thick again. "Katniss, you're...You're st-still healthy. I'm...I'm going to die."

I know that she's right, but I can't bring myself to leave her out while I'll hide from other tributes. She deserves to die in peace, with a minimal amount of fear that she'll be discovered. For her sake I slide back in, covering the opening as well as I can before laying down beside her. She looks to me, letting out a small sound in her throat that sounds like relief.

"Thank you, Katniss. Thank you.." She whispers shakily.

I can't think of what to say in response, so I listen to her strained breathing grow softer and slower. Once I'm positive she's asleep, I lift her hands from her side carefully, straining to see with the last remains of daylight. It's a small wound, which explains why she's survived so long, but it's obviously very deep, which proves she really won't last much longer.

As I lay by her dying body, I wonder if Tetri is alright. She mentioned him but didn't elaborate, but I can't bring myself to interrupt her if she's dying now, peacefully, in her sleep. I close my eyes as the tears finally come, flowing down with face in silence.

I can't save her, but as soon as the morning breaks, I know I have to save him. The cannon begins to fire repeatedly in the distance, counting off the deaths for today, but I'm pulled under to drown in nightmares before it finishes.


	8. Part One, Chapter Seven: First Day

_My father is putting on his boots when I wake up. I sit up slowly in bed, trying to be mindful of not waking up Prim, and squint to make out the small smile on his face. He knows that I'm awake._

_"Are you going to hunt today?" I whisper. The miners have to wake up early, but I don't think it's usually this early._

_He nods once and stands up, kissing me on the top of the head. "I promise you can come with me tomorrow morning, alright?"_

_I nod and feel my heart leap up. I love it when he takes me with him on hunting trips because he teaches me a lot every time, and as he's always said, knowledge is power. He pats the top of the mattress again, indicating for me to go back to sleep, but I just shake my head and stand in the doorway. He gives me a smile, winks, then exits toward the woods. I give him a little wave of farewell even though I know he can't see, and I stand there long after he's gone, planning on waiting until the other miners start waking up and coming out._

_Smoke suddenly pours into the sky, blurring my vision. I stand there, frozen and struggling to breathe. Somehow I subconsciously know that this is a true part of the memory, that it's merely being skewed by a nightmare, but I scream anyway._

_"Run, Daddy!" I scream as the smoke becomes so thick I can't breathe. "Run! Run!"_

My eyes snap open. My throat is parched and I'm trembling, but the nightmare is still very much real. The air is no longer clear and I'm trapped, breathing is smokey air that burns with every part of my lungs it's poisoning. I sit up and snap my neck around to look at Hallow, who is lying very still beside me. I want to check and see if she's still alive, but my stomach twists and I know I can't stay here, not with the smoke only growing thicker. I grab her wrist and start trying to get out of the dugout, but the dirt is weaken now and merely billows around us. Hallow's weight was never much, but she seems heavier now and it is enough to slow me down and my grip on her is making it impossible to tear my way out.

I can hardly breathe through the smoke at this point. I look down at the girl my age, the one who I was going to try and protect no matter what the cost is. I made a promise to my baby sister, however. It is either one or the other, because if I stay here with her barely-alive body, I will die as well.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice gravely as I gasp sharply and start a more violent fit of coughing. I let go of her limp hand and drive my fingers into a pocket of the frail dirt, clawing wildly until I finally feel cold air bursting against my face and fresh air rush into my lungs.

I shove my face into my arms to distort the gasping and coughing as much as I can, shivering for reasons other than the cold violently. My vision is murky even as I feebly crawl from the dugout, only being able to picture Hallow's expressionless face as I saved myself. She might have already been dead-

The canon fires. A scream rises from my stomach and into my throat, but it morphs into violent shaking instead. I can't find the strength for anything else so I lay there, staring up at the fake sky as my vision refocuses and my lungs cease their burning. The shaking doesn't stop, though, and the image of her face is all I can see before long in place of the top of this arena.

I couldn't have saved her. I killed her instead.

* * *

 

I'm awakened by the sound of leaf crunching somewhere in front of me. Sleep made the shaking cease at least temporarily, so I lay there motionlessly as footfall grows closer. I shut my eyes despite my instincts, listening as someone kicks something firm.

"Damn," a girl's voice comments. "Someone was here."

"You think it might be the kid lying over there?" Another girl growls. "Go check if she's dead. I'll see if anyone's inside."

The first girl grunts. "I doubt it. This one of the spots Karat, Strap, and Sterling burnt out."

Her footfall gets closer to me and I suck in a silent breath. From my hunting I've learned how to act completely still and quiet my breathing, but these tributes are obviously part of the Career pack. This is more than likely where I'll die with some kind of weapon through my heart or head once this girl realizes I'm alive.

Her hand grips my wrist and she presses her thumb down. Her breathing catches and I fight the urge to cringe despite the fact she knows I'm still very much alive. Maybe death will be a peaceful place. I'll be with my entire family soon, I remind myself as I listen to her rising.

"She's dead," she announces to her other partner. "She's fresh kill, though. Gun hole in her stomach. Come on and let's get out of her before the helicopter comes to get her."

Her foot connects with my stomach sharply and I almost wince again. Her partner must nod, because their footfall grows more distant in sound. I lay there long after their gone, feeling moisture building readily behind my eyes and finally forcing out onto my cheeks. The first girl I know realize was Annie Cresta, the tribute from District Four who was so kind to her thirteen year old partner. She had pity on me and gave me what she thought was mercy. She has unknowingly benefited Tetri, who I pray it still alive, by trying to spare me. I am grateful only for that and the fact that I have kept my promise to Prim a little longer.

When I open my eyes and sit up, night is finally beginning to fall. I make way carefully toward the dugout again, thinking back to my bow. The other Career likely got it; She must have been Gem from District One if Sterling was one of those burning. It was the Careers who were to start the fire that I left my ally to die inside. Anger sparks in my gut as I ease myself down, wincing as the lingering smell of smoke and ash fill my senses. It is nearly completely blank from the combination of night and the ashy dirt, so I have to rely on my hands feeling the walls and ground quickly. They find nothing and my heart sinks.

Tetri. I have to find Tetri before the night falls completely.

I make my way out of the dugout and begin treking into the arena. I find a rock with a jagged edge and a piece of glass, likely a remaint of the construction of this hellsphere, and these become my only real weapons. I think back to Hallow again, how she'd given her life for me to possess that precious bow. I vow to myself to get it back somehow.

The dark overcomes before before I can find him entirely, so I boost myself into the trees. I know I won't rest with the risk factors involving it, but I can't see in the dark and the movement will attract my potiental murderers. I shift against the trunk once I'm satisfied I'm high enough and wait for the death tole to light up the sky.

When the music begins to blare, it only reopens the wound across my heart to see that Hallow merely shows up as  **District Seven Female** with her picture. No honor or mention to her name, just another face in the sky. I missed the call last night, so there is still a high possibility that Tetri is not even alive.

I have to try. It occurs to me that ultimately, he is all I left to live for in addition to Prim. They are all I have left.


	9. Part One, Chapter Eight: Loose Alliance

My eyes snap open as sharp shards of pain shoot through my right shoulder. The world is off along with my coordination, moving in a violent reverse as my force of impact causes my stomach to reject anything still inside of it. All that crams up my throat is vile, which I manage to swallow, but my shoulder is throbbing in pain. When I landed I heard a crack. I fear with stunned horror that I've managed to break it, but as agonizing as it is to move it, I can. It's probably just a fracture, but it's not going to make my survival as well as Tetri's any easier.

"Damn it," I mutter, pawing around until I finally manage to find a looser piece of bark on the trunk of the tree I was high in just minutes before, pulling myself to sit up against it.

It was thoughtless for me to fall asleep on the limb last night, and if no other tribute heard my fall I'll be lucky. I shallow my breathing and scan my surroundings like my father taught me to scan for animals, but nothing twitches with movement or shifts, at least not right now. It occurs to me as I sigh quietly with relief that I just used profanity, something I refrained from doing in front of Prim as much as possible, especially after our father's death. The thought of my mother scolding me for it is so normal and typical that I almost want to smile.

I have to focus on reality, however. My fall has seemed to delay my limited energy supply, so I'm forced to continue to grip onto the loose section of bark as I lift my knee up in a crouching position. As I begin to pull myself to my feet fully the bark snaps, leaving me to lean heavily against the tree until I'm in the proper standing stance. I glance again, squinting as I try to find anything I could use to attempt to fashion a makeshift sling, but I find nothing. I settle for gripping my injured shoulder with my opposite hand as I begin to stumble forward, glancing up toward the looming mountains in the distance. Something inside of me tells me to head for them and I doubt it's logic, but my instincts are all I have to rely on.

I'm not sure how long I'm able to walk ignoring the variety of cuts and bruises obtained as well as the alternating severity of pain in my shoulder, but it's not as long as I need too before I have to take a rest against another tree. The forestry is all I've seen since I ran for them, and if wildlife exists in the trees and on the ground, that means there has to be water somewhere. The Gamemakers won't make finding it an easy task, but it's possible.

While I'm practically incapacitated, I decide to inspect the full extent of the fall's damage. The back part of my shoulder is swollen and straining slightly against the fabric of the layers of my clothing, and I obviously can't move it much without wanting to scream. I have a cluster of bruises on the side as well, and then others scattered around my upper torso side and lower back. I managed to get one long scratch down the left side of my neck, likely from catching on a branch of the way down, and my energy still hasn't returned.

If my mother was here or even Prim, they'd know how to relieve some of my aliments. They've both always had such healing, naturally helping hands, unlike my own which are calloused from trying to follow in my father's hunting and skills in making beautiful things. I don't find much upon looking around for something for a makeshift sling, but I do find a large mass of moss against a tree nearly parallel to me and a large stick. I waver over to these potential supplies and use the stick to secure to the back of my shoulder, and upon applying as much as process as I can, it feels more snug.

If I had some rope, I could tie it around my shoulder in that position to fit the cracked parts back together, but it'd be exceedingly difficult without the aid of another person. None the less I put the stick in my back pocket and sit down, leaning my head against the drying out moss in temporary mission. I have to keep moving, but I know I'm pushing my body's limits by doing so before I regain enough energy to walk straight.

The sound of rustling is what finally brings me back to full attention from thinking back to memories of with my family. I turn my head in the direction and force myself to my feet as quickly as possible; at least I'm able to do that without assistance at this point. A shadow moves across the grass briefly then retreats, and I'm debating whether or not to follow when a hand grabs the nape of my neck and sticks a long, gleaming blade under my chin.

"District Twelve," a rough voice announces after a moment of ridged, shocked silence. "The twelve year old with a ten."

"Don't slit her throat yet." The other voice is also male but is higher pitched. The owner emerges a second later, revealing a lanky boy who looks about sixteen or seventeen with thin-rimmed glasses and pale, splotchy skin. "Yet, that is she."

The tribute holding me at swordpoint grunts but doesn't loosen his hold. "Are you hurt?"

I don't respond. I'm not going to let them know immediately of my physical disadvantages when they've already got the upper hand in this position, but he instantly throws me to the ground seconds after asking. I'm not able to break my fall quickly enough and land harshly on my knee, but it snaps both my shoulders forth with the force and I gasp out instantly.

"Is it broken?" The lanky boy doesn't make a move to touch me, but the stare he gives through his lenses is admittedly a little intimidating with their knowledge about me.

"No," I answer stiffly, pushing back on my heels and standing fully with my knees shaking a little. His ally instantly has me at swordpoint again, but this time he doesn't grab the back of my neck. I can feel his hot breath against it none the less.

"Where are your allies?" The lanky tribute inquires blandly, glancing me over as critically as the Gamemakers did.

"Who says I have allies?" I deadpan.

"You're twelve. It is entirely unlikely that you're alive on your own experience or knowledge." He raises an eyebrow and anger begins to brew in my gut.

"It is unlikely, but it is not impossible." I set my jaw and straighten my back as much as I can with the sword pressing ever closer to my throat. "The other twelve year old, the boy. Is he still alive?"

He squints slightly, but slowly nods. "His name did not appear in the sky after the scene at the Cornucopia or today."

I'm relieved internally as soon as he nods. Tetri is still alive somewhere in this arena, no matter if he's still relatively healthy or barely hanging onto the thread of life. If I can escape these two, we have a chance at reuniting.

"You two must be allies." The boy muses, his tone becoming matter-of fact at the prospect of me truly having allies.

"We are separated," I point out flatly, and the sword at my throat nicks the skin deeply enough for spots of blood to begin to appear on the smooth metal of the sword.

"She can't fight, Roscoe. Release her for now." He steps back none the less and, with a grunt that's full of reluctance, my captivator lowers his weapon.

I act on instinct as I've done the past two days, jerking around to look at the owner of the weapon. He's got a deep-running tan compared to his more lanky friend and has a stocky build, his shoulders stiffly squared as he stares at me with dark eyes full of disdain. He almost reminds me of Gale in his tight expression, one that's naturally full of defiance and rebellion that's itching to be acted upon. He wants me dead, but his ally's logical standpoint has kept me alive this long.

"Well, then what the hell do we do with her?" Roscoe grunts after a few long tense moments of silence. I instantly match the scowl written across his expression, but he has a point.

The lanky boy seems to notice this and slowly chuckles, an action of bitter amusement. "She's defiant like yourself. She has stayed alive for nearly forty eight hours solely, which is significant given her age. She is potentially both valuable and dangerous."

"Would ya cut the smartass analogy and get to the decision?" Roscoe snaps. I nearly want to agree, but his intelligence is surprising. For years I have watched tributes work such as Roscoe, ruthless and desperate to win, but those careful and precise such as him are a rarity to watch.

He grows quiet, then finally sighs briefly. "We'll allow her to work with us for the time being. If she makes a false judgement against us, however, you are more than welcome to end her life."

Roscoe begrudgingly agrees. "And if I deny an alliance?" I ask carefully, locking eyes with him.

He raises both eyebrows briefly, then chuckles slightly. "Well, that would quite illogical, now wouldn't it? I take you as a fairly intelligent product of the mining district, Everdeen. Are you going to prove me wrong?"

He's intelligent, but he's also full of arrogance that's presented much more differently than Roscoe's. He thinks he can win, and if he's as smart as he fronts, he does have much more of a chance than I. If I ally myself with them I'll be abandoning Tetri, but if I don't I'll leave him by being another corpse.

"No." I try to straight my shoulders evenly and cringe as I imagine. "I'm not."

A thin smile spreads across his face. "Good girl. You can call me Tax, Everdeen."

"You can call me Everdeen, Tax." I regard Roscoe with another bitter glance, as his has never left me. "Can you do anything for my shoulder?"

Tax looks to me with the same sly smirk and turns his back to me, beginning to stride in the other direction. Roscoe seizes my good arm on instant. beginning to pull me along roughly in following our ally. I look back toward the mountains in the other direction, picturing Hallow's hollowing face as she told me that I was going to win and she was going to die, and Tetri's flushed expression as I forgave him for saying he'd kill me. He would gladly do the same for me if our roles were reversed, I choose to think in substitute of raw, useless despair. He already wronged me in the sake of our having sponsors on national television, so surely he'd do the same again in this do-or-die circumstance.

I have to try to believe this, because otherwise I'll be killed, either by one of their hands or by my own worsening, damaged body.

The three of us walk for a decent amount of time, managing to successfully pass the area where Hallow died and reach the Cornucopia before the sun shows it's mid afternoon. The sea is calmer, pushing against the shore insistently. To my surprise the Cornucopia itself is barren, showing no signs of the Career pack with the supplies all still in tact. Scattered and raided, but in tact.

"Where are they?" I demand, and dread fills my chest as I realize I could have very well have been led right into a cruel death trap.

Tax and Roscoe, however, do not change their expressions much. Rather, Tax simply replies in an matter-of-fact tone, "They have adopted a strategy for killing tributes more quickly. They spread throughout the arena at certain points during the day and hunt other tributes to kill, then return here at night. They have the supplies set out in the open to give the others an illusion of their not occupying it, but they will easily kill them once they return."

I stare at him incredulously. He's far too knowledgeable for his own good, and there are only a few options to how he knows this information. We catch each other's stares briefly and he chuckles darkly.

"We have been around here for the past two days," he informs me. "We overhead their discussion on the night of the first day."

I am not sure whether or not I will believe him. Taking someone at their word requires a large amount of trust, and I do not trust either of them in the slightest. I look back toward the supplies, unguarded and inviting to my battered body and growling stomach.

"But tributes can raid them and leave right after," I state. "Their plan can be manipulated."

"Nobody ever said the Careers were known for brains." Roscoe scowls and pulls off all of the shirts layering his upper torso, beginning to remove his thick wool pants. I have to turn away; modesty has always been important to me despite my mother and sister not minding as much.

I listen carefully to his movement even with my head turned away none the less. Tax remains motionless nearby as Roscoe wades into the water, then eventually begins to swim. Once I hear the unmistakable sound of him pulling onto the opposite shore, I hear Tax beginning to strip to his underwear as well.

"This protects our clothing from being weighed down with water," Tax comments as the clasp of his pants opens. "This decreases our chance of hypothermia greatly. I have a feeling you already have a basic grasp on this concept, as you took off a couple of layers when the Games began."

He saw that. I suppose that all of the tributes weren't trying to reach the supplies first like I originally counted on.

The sounds of Tax entering the water mixes with sounds of Roscoe checking and stuffing things in bags. I get the notion I'm expected to strip and follow them as well, but I am not willing. It's too easy, and it's more than likely a trap. Instead I pull my coat closer despite the heat and watch with fleeting eyes as they maneuver around the crates and bags, occasionally saying words I can't make out or hear before putting something in another sack. It doesn't take them long to be finished none the less. Tax glances up to me and fixes his gaze steadily, lifting up two of the backpacks, and it sharply dawns on me what they expect of me.

Now is my chance to escape. I risk making enemies out of them if I do, and with my body in such bad shape I may very well be destroying any chance of getting anything for something for my shoulder. I know from being forced to watch so many years that being killed by another tribute isn't the most common cause of death in the arena, and I'd only be decreasing my chances of survival to nothing.

I pull off my coat and two of my shirts, swiftly struggle out of my boots and pants, then hurry into the water. I know how to swim by my father teaching me in a secluded lake when I was young, but without much aid from my fractured shoulder I'm struggling to even stay afloat. I do my best to ignore the agony it's bringing, but I am soon lost in the motions and consumed in the burning, raking fire. I cry out when I'm grabbed by one arm and yanked forward, planting my face in the soaked sand of the shore.

My entire world is tinged red with fire for a moment as I'm rolled onto my back, then all I see is darkness.


	10. Part One, Chapter Nine: Strained Trust

My hair being loose is the first thing I realize upon waking up. I can not move my bad shoulder, I also note before I open my eyes, but I am only greatest with the same darkness. Nearby, the unmistakable sound of a fire popping causes me to jump, and a slow chuckle answers my alarm.

"Uncover her eyes, Roscoe," Tax orders, his voice as collected and even as it was before now.

Something rough scrapes lightly against my cheeks and forehead briefly before I'm able to see the fire. It's small and hardly provides warmth, but it's presence is risky enough as it is. Any brighter would attract other tributes quickly. Through the dim lighting I make out Tax's wirey form, which practically blends in with shadows all around us. Roscoe's figure is more prominent, bulging as he leans over the fire, feeding it various rocks and sticks. The scent of cooked meat lingers in the air, and I realize just how hungry I am at this point.

"Here." Tax pushes something to my mouth, his fingers pressing against my lips lightly. "We saved you a little."

"What is it?" I ask, but I instantly swallow the meat. Despite what it could or could not be, food is food.

He doesn't respond but I recognize it as squirrel. Homesickness pangs just as sharply as my hunger as I sit up carefully, using my good arm for support. My bad shoulder is secured back, I realize, and the sharp pains have been replaced with numbness.

"What is on my shoulder?" I ask flatly.

I can barely make out the details of his face, but I'm sure I see Tax smirk. "You do not honestly think that the Gamemakers wouldn't provide for instances just as this, do you?"

Everything comes rushing back to me at once. "You found it at the Cornucopia."

Roscoe grunts and sits back, tilting his head toward the sky. It is likely the reminder of starvation causing me to think like this, but there is a certain vulnerability to his posture and vague expression. He is a tribute just like myself; it is entirely possible he misses his home just as much as I do. I try to shake the thought from my head. Thinking like that could be dangerous when they are my competition, and none of us are willing to become a real alliance. All of us want the other two dead and we all know it.

The Capitol music begins to blare all around us and I fix my gaze on the sky as well. The photo for the District Three male appears along with the females from Nine, Ten, and Eleven. When the music ends and the sky grows black again, Tax scuffs out the fire with his boot, looking even more disdainful than he did originally.

"Well damn," Roscoe finally comments.

Tax grunts softly in the response and I sigh. One of those girls was more than likely his District partner judged by his reaction to that; I think to Gale and almost cringe. I don't want to ask about him for reasons other than Tax's bitterness, but even though he isn't much more to me than an another enemy, he is from home.

The embers finally die from the fire, leaving nothing but the dark of night surrounding the three of us. Roscoe shuffles a couple of packs around to resemble a pillow and leans back against it, but I doubt any of us will do anything sleeping tonight. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my good arm around the front, staring at artificial sky until it finally gives way to day.

* * *

 

I can hear my hammering heart as I dash after my two fellow tributes. My shoulder is once again in searing pain as it bounces around in the sling, but the sounds of rapid footfall behind me motivate me to continue running. The events that just took place were a like a domino effect, beginning with Roscoe tearing open the foil of a protein bar to a snapped twig in the distance, leading into a form leaping out of the treeline and tackling me, and ending with a slice across my upper left thigh as I pound after my 'alliance'. My attacker was not alone, and we can't risk that her alliance isn't armed as well.

"Come on, cripple!" One of the girls shouts too closely behind me. "It's too late for you anyway!"

I think back to Hallow, bleeding in a spot similar to where I am now as she ran desperately for her own life. I almost wonder if this girl knows if I'm one of the two twelve year olds still alive, or I'm just another nameless face, another person to finish off for her own survival. It is most likely the latter. I continue to stare forward none the less, my feet burning as I stumble on branches and crush leaves and twigs beneath me. If I am going to die, which I know I am, I am going to do it in a way that will hopefully make Prim proud if she's being forced to watch right now.

A hand snatches my hair and my feet slip out from under me, causing me to land harshly on my bad shoulder. I instantly cry out in pain as they yank me to sit up, bracing my flimsy weight against their legs. I see the tip of the already knife for only a moment before the screaming of my captivator fills my darkening world. I'm pitched forward as she falls back, still screaming and kicking me in various spots on my upper torso as I scramble back feebly.

The girl's face is streaked with tears as she continues to scream, clutching her leg so tightly the blood is draining out of her hands. An arrow has been shot right through her kneecap, but her blood has soaked it heavily along with the ground around her. Her fingers grip around it for a moment before she falls back, whimpering between her screams. All too quickly a scream ceases, however, and she stops wriggling. I wonder how an admittedly agonizing but relatively survivable injury led to her demise, but then I see the arrow now lodged at a particular angle in her neck that made for a rapid end to her life.

Her alliance is not far behind her. A girl I recognize, Veria from District Three, is standing the closest, her face bleached as much as her ally's knuckles. A few feet behind her stands Gale, his face as stoic as ever. He's holding a bow in firing position, but there is no longer an arrow notched as he slowly lowers it, locking his gray eyes with my own. His lips part, as if he's going to speak, but I can't do anything but stumble to my feet as the world continues to spin and grow darker.

Footsteps are coming from behind me as well as one of the two boys screaming incoherent words. Gale and I meet eyes again briefly before he throws the bow and a few arrows at my feet and grabs Veria's wrist, running off in the other direction with her tote. Two large hands grab my waist and toss me over their shoulder.

"Bow..." I rasp out, reaching for it feebly as they turn around sharply along with my stomach.

I hear a deep toned grunt before his hand grabs it as well. I can hear the sounds of retching coming from my throat and Tax's screaming growing louder as the darkness consumes me again.

When I wake a second time, the sky has grown dark again and we are still moving. I'm still draped over Roscoe's massive shoulder, and I find the bow to now be in my grasp as well. He must feel my movement upon waking up, because I'm set on my feet so quickly I fall down on my backside almost instantly. His chuckle in response is low toned and brief.

"What was that?" Tax's voice demands. His tone is more on edge and full of fear, replacing his formerly cool exterior.

"Just Everdeen," Roscoe replies evenly. He pulls me to my feet by my good shoulder once again, beginning to walk ahead of me without another word.

The wound of my side is wrapped now and has stopped bleeding, but I can feel how tender it is. If I have to run like I did earlier again it will definitely burst open again, which would more than likely to be fatal to me in the end. Judging my the silhouettes off of Tax and Roscoe, we lost a fair amount of supplies when we were forced to run from the girl, Veria, and Gale, but it was not as bad as it could have been. We obviously still have at least one medical kit, and we likely still have a ration of food and water.

"You have got to stop being so useless," Taz states simply after a few long moments of silence. "Roscoe is not going to keep carrying around your skinny ass until we're the last three."

Being the last three is wishful thinking, but I respond blandly, "I didn't expect him too."

The night sky soon lights up with today's death toll, displaying the girl's picture brightly above us. Apparently she was from District Eight, and now that I am able to look at her directly, she appears to have been around seventeen or eighteen years old. I think back to Gale's stoic face as he killed her and feel my stomach flip again; no, I can not be weak now. I force back the thought of tears and continue to walk along with my supposed alliance until Tax stops in front of a particularly large tree.

"We'll stop here," he decides. His tone has lost edginess again and has given to pure fatigue, both physical and mental.

Roscoe sets down the three bags that have been hanging off one of his arms and picks up one that looks dark green, producing a rope out of it moments later. He ties it in a knot in the middle with significant speed and squints through the darkness, tossing it up and successfully managing to loop it through one of the limbs of the tree. I'm partially stunned as Tax grabs the rope from his hands, beginning to tie it around his own waist while Roscoe goes to the end still hanging off of the other end.

"Are you sure it will hold?" He inquires upon finishes tying, his inquisitive tone creeping back.

There is silence for a few drawn out moments. "Remember where I'm from, you shady bastard."

I'm sure Tax rolls his eyes, but his silence signifies unspoken respect. Roscoe grips his end of the rope and begins to pull up, lifting our supposed ally off the ground and toward the limb it's attached to. I hear the branch beginning to crack and watch it strain the higher he begins to climb, and I imagine this is around the time he begins to realize his danger.

"Ros-" He begins, but he's cut of by a sickening crack from the limb.

He unwisely begins to flail, pawing wildly at the tree trunk for a few seconds before the limb gives completely. He does not fall far- my guess is around five or six feet- but something cracks as he hits the ground. He lets out a scream and limb hits the ground, obscuring our view of Roscoe as Tax writhes around the ground.

He may have been the one to fall this time, but I'm gasping for air nearly as much. "T-Tax.."

A massive form steps over the brambles, and Tax yells, "T-traitor! You dumbass-"

"I'd be careful about what you say to me." Roscoe's voice is even none the less. "That's for deeming Everdeen weak because of her injuries. Just because we are older does not mean that we are invincible or more capable of winning than her. She is from District Twelve, and she's made it this far."

Tax gasps out a few more times before he gets to his feet, stumbling to his right and wildly flailing out to get the tree's support. I can feel the venom in his stare to both of us, but Roscoe merely unties the rope from the fallen limb and begins to scale the tree with more ease than I would predict for his weight and height. Once he's out of our supposed ally's range of direct attack, Tax turns to me wildly, his form more slouched and tense.

"We were a fairly functional alliance before you came along," he snaps bitterly. "If I did not know he would crush me as penance, I would kill you right now. But eventually, Everdeen, this alliance is going to fall, because only one tribute is going to emerge alive. It is fact it will not be you."

"Well, the odds were never really in my favor to begin with." I know he is right, but I will not let him see me at a weakened state any longer.

The rope falls down again a minute or two later, formed in such a way I can only predict we're supposed to step up on it and climb. I can no longer see Roscoe's form against the other dark shadows, which only adds to be apprehension about trusting him enough to go up in a tree with him. He has just proven he can be just as lethal as the District Eight girl. Trusting either of them in the slightest is too likely going to be my cause of death at any given time, but with all of my physical disadvantages, the odds are continuously out of my favor either way.

I step into the loop of the hole and grip on with both hands securely. I'm still debating on how to climb when I feel myself begin to pull toward the branches, and all I'm able to do is hope he won't decide to drop me.


	11. Part One, Chapter Ten: Impulse

I'm not sure if how smart of me it is to keep messing with my sleep schedule, but after what happened to Tax I was far too on edge to sleep last night. Roscoe seemed unaffected and snored against the trunk from the time he lifted Tax into the tree as well, and even Tax has slept off and on. Neither of us spoke to each other the entire time or tried to push the other off. Our silent hatred for each other is unnerving, but I won't let him see I'm afraid of his potential.

As I stare up at the colors painted into the sky, I consider that Prim would love a view like this. She'd be too young to realize it was made by the Capitol, but it is beautiful. I continue staring at it while Tax opens a bag, hopefully just to get out some of our rations. He places something on one of my hands with shiny foil and grunts.

"Don't break it." He speaks quietly, but there is venom in his words.

I look down to my other hand, which has been gripping the bow Roscoe saved for me yesterday. It is my only real weapon with very limited arrows, so I've got to guard it with my life. I grip the energy bar Tax just gave me with the other hand, wriggling to sit up and losing my breath when I sway on the limb. I tried to climb the trees outside of District Twelve many times while hunting, but while I'm not bad at doing it, my balance is off because of the sling on my shoulder and my swollen thigh.

Roscoe shifts for the first since last night, opening his eyes with an almost serene look on his face. I wonder what he could he dreamed about to make him feel like that as I tentatively open my food, breaking it in half and offering it to him. He takes it and gives me a wink; maybe he understands that's my way of trying to pay him back after him saving my life twice.

"Districts One and Two are still alive." Tax mutters to himself. Roscoe and I exchange a glance, and I wonder if he's considering that our 'ally' is beginning to lose his mind already. "District Thee female is alive. District Four is unsurprisingly still alive. District Five is out. The District Six and District Seven males are alive. District Eight is out. District Nine male is alive. District Ten male is alive. District Eleven is out. District Twelve is still alive."

I think back to Hallow, who died because of the Cornucopia and burned to ashes. Why didn't the helicopter come for her before? Were they unable to get into the dugout because I might have,  _would_ have tried to attack anyone who got her? Grief rises up my throat like bile and I choke it down, making a weak sound that makes Roscoe stare at me briefly.

My tears burn lightly and I think of what Tax just said. They're obviously not Careers, and Roscoe is so muscled and good with a rope, he must be from District Ten. That means Tax is from either Six or Nine, and judging by his disdain after the last death toll list, he's probably from Nine. They've both lost their District partners and mine is still alive, but I dislike him even though he gave me a weapon I can use. I may never know why. At least Tetri is still alive out there, and I have to find him soon. I know I have to see his sweet face one more time, to  _be there_ for him if he ends up dying, just like I was there for poor Hallow.

"You're allies with the Seven boy, aren't you?" Roscoe is staring at me, his gaze intense but not bitter.

"Yes." I admit, gripping my bow a little harder.

"Do you want to go find him?" He asks steadily, and only now does Tax bother to look at both of his with his hateful eyes.

The question both concerns me and relives me. Roscoe, I'm beginning to see, has been only my side from the beginning of this alliance, even though he tried to kill me when I first encountered them and doesn't say much. He's less vengeful than Tax, and even though he's more likely to be this year's Victor than me, at least that's the same for him and Tax.

"I do," I say slowly, but a bad feeling tugs at the pit of my stomach. "But why do you?"

"I'm willing to offer you a deal, Everdeen. We all know this alliance is only going to last so long. We still have ten other tributes to worry about, and you only stayed with us so you could stay alive. Am I wrong?" It almost surprises me to hear him speak so much with so much logic compared to Tax's loud mouth, but I just nod slowly. "Exactly. So, here's the deal: You show us what you can do with your bow there. If you're decent, you come with us back the Cornucopia. We're going to flush out the Careers, split them up, kill one of them off. You help us out there and we can go our separate ways."

"What if we can't kill one?" I'm gripping my bow even more tightly now, a pool of anxiety forming as I consider the possibility of losing one of my arrows.

"Then we'll be dead. It's not rocket science," Tax spits. "You both seem to have forgotten that they're not there during the day, though. They only come back after they patrol."

"You and I saw which paths they've been taking. One of us stays at the Cornucopia in case somebody comes back, the other two go down one of the paths to hunt them for a change. It ain't rocket science." An accent slips through in Roscoe's speech for a moment, but he doesn't look ashamed of it.

Tax scowls more deeply. "Good work, genius. So which one of us stays as bait?"

"Well, that depends." He turns back toward me. "How about I help you down and you show me what you can do with that bow?"

Everything seems to run together as he ties one end of the rope securely around my waist and begins to lower me down. He said something about finding rocks or sticks to shoot, only for now because there would probably be more arrows at the Cornucopia. Tax is scowling without putting any expression on his face as my heart pounds violently against my ribs. I'm probably being a fool to trust Roscoe enough to make a deal, but this is probably the only chance I'm going to ever have to get to Tetri.

Once I'm on the ground once again, I loosen the rope and begin to limp around, looking for anything I could notch into the string of my bow in place of an arrow. I reach down into my pants' pocket and find the jagged piece of glass and the rock with a uneven, sharp point from just before I met Roscoe and Tax, and decide to try using the rock. I press it to the string with my thumb as I draw back, aiming for a loosely hanging branch off of the one the trees. I attempt to make it airborne, but the stone is just too heavy to be fired from the wound string, so I drop it dejectedly and shoot an arrow instead. It hits my target cleanly, though it's a bit lower than I was intending, and I immediately haul ass to retrieve it.

I almost curse when I can't find it immediately, but when I look up toward the tree once again, Roscoe has a light smirk on his face as Tax remains expressionless. They both join me on the ground soon after, handing me one of the packs as I tuck my rogue arrow back in the makeshift quiver for my bag pocket. As we begin to walk in the direction of the Cornucopia, something catches my eye from the sky; a faint glitter, something too dim to be from the sun. I hear something break and I notice a pale red cloth, tangled up among the leaves and branches of a tree a few strides in front of us. Tax notices it at the same time and turns back to me, shaking his head when his eyes flit to my shoulder.

He is probably right, but I'm going to listen to my instincts instead. He hates me anyway, so it shouldn't really matter to him if I die going up there. Once they pass the tree I grab onto the rough bark with both hands, grunting as I begin to try climbing up. I can hardly move my shoulder without searing pain that seems to be enough to make me unable to move at all, so I rely on my knees and good shoulder, heaving and straining my back especially with every pull. By the time I finally reach the cloth, I'm feeling lightheaded and praying to whatever is up there that I won't faint now.

As I'd hoped, it isn't just a red cloth. It's a parachute with a canister full of something attached, which was what was caught on a limb. In fancy Capitol handwriting, the note attached reads,  _Would you hurry up and just find the kid already? ~H._

"Haymitch," I breathe out, feeling the most relief I have in the past four hellish days at this gift from him. I am not the only one who is trying to keep me alive.

Inside of the canister I find a small tube of some kind of cream and a small compass, both of which look very new and expensive. I take out the tube with trembling fingers, squirting a bit against my filthy, scratched up fingers. The small cuts lacing them begin to tingle in response and I let out a small gasp, gripping the band of my pants as my shaking gets worse. My modesty should not matter right now but it does, and I know that both of the boys are watching me right now. Blinking away the tears of pain and relief, I put it back inside of the canister and begin to struggle my way back down, nearly toppling over when my feet finally find the ground again.

Tax grabs my wrist before I can fall backwards, though, and I find that he's leaning against the trunk of a tree himself. Of course; he has that ankle injury because of Roscoe.

"Not bad, Everdeen," Roscoe decides aloud now. "What's inside of it?"

"A tube with some cream and compass," I tell them, consciously not specifying what the cream is to be used for.

There is as much questioning in Tax's gaze at me as ever, but this time he just releases my wrist, beginning to limp after Roscoe. I do the same, longing desperately to duck away from them and all of the cameras to treat the cut across my thigh. The cream might even help out of the sprained muscles inside of my shoulder, but if I do it now I risk it all being used up by them as well. If I need it later, I'll just be shafted.

**...**

It turns out that Tax's reminder of the Careers hunting during the day isn't much of a problem, as the twilight is beginning to set in by the time we get to the lake. We've had to stop several times in the course of the walk due to both Tax's and I's injuries, so the rapidly lost time makes sense. We all take a moment to stare at the island across the water, silently questioning who will make the journey. Roscoe makes the most sense up front because he's uninjured and can swim there easily, but he's also already killed and is going to be the best fighter. We need him to be the other one of us if we're going to even have a chance at killing a Career.

"I suppose it should be me." Tax sighs, and I watch his eyes flit across his bad ankle briefly before steps into the water. "Everdeen can still climb with her injuries and you can kill."

Roscoe doesn't look like he's going to protest. None the less I grab his wrist as tightly as I dare, forcing my gaze to remain neutral even when he snaps around his neck to glare at me.

"No. I'll go. I'm a strong swimmer and you can still defend yourself because you have use of both your arms. Don't we we have knife or dagger?" I slip the pack that's been on my back all day off and rummage around, producing a pocket knife a few moments later.

He stares at me intently for a few long moments. For the first time in the past two days he looks like he actually cares about someone other than himself, or at least he's showing some sign of being afraid. He takes the knife none the less and flips it open in one smooth motion, turning in other direction and beginning to limp the quickest he can. Roscoe stares after him before turning to me, his expression almost kind. He looks vulnerable, almost like Prim would when she'd worry about me going out.

"Don't do something too stupid, Everdeen," he says, sounding pained.

Roscoe cares about me. It hits me as hard as the ground did to my shoulder, practically taking the oxygen out of my lungs. I feel in a daze as I wrap my good arm around his upper torso the best I can, pressing myself to him in a half hug. He smells like sweat and dust.

"The same goes for you, Ten," I mutter before pulling away.

He raises an eyebrow at me and a light smirk graces his lips before he strides easily after Tax. Once they're out of sight for what seems like infinity, I pull the canister back out of one of my coat pockets, grabbing out the cream and pulling my pants down enough to reveal my thigh wound. I'm instantly filled with release as I carefully rub it across it, wincing a bit as I watch the dirt be pushed away from inside, draining the infection before my eyes. I attempt to wipe it away as I yank back on my clothes, then reach under my upper layers with a new glob on my fingers. The areas I touch all across my shoulder begin to numb in response, but I doubt it will last long. I put the canister in the bag along with the first two layers of my clothes, even removing the sling before zipping it back up.

I jump in the water quickly, running off the adrenaline from my wounds feeling almost normal. The cold temperature startles me and I come up gasping, but I start to pump my arms and legs as quickly as I can, just like my father taught me until I finally bump against the sandy shore. I pull myself up, choking on the water and shivering as I scramble among the piles of bags. Time seems to slow as I gasp for breath, laying there in a battered daze. I stumble badly as I rise, leaning against the metallic structure set as the centerpiece. It's designed for tributes to camp inside of it but is designed steeply, making climbing to top nearly impossible.

As I continue to regain my focus, I note without surprise that the supplies have all been gone through and are carelessly thrown in all direction. I begin to go through them, finding two bottles of water that I greedily down. I almost want Roscoe and Tax here now to give them a portion of the fruits in my labor, but this is the first time I've been able to be selfish in eating or drinking. Even when my father was alive we were all forced to be conservative, even as babies, so we could all live in our extreme poverty. I settle back against the centerpiece after downing three energy bars and four canisters of a strange type of ham that's non-perishable. My stomach fills full by my own hands for once, and I almost smile. The fact that the Careers have been able to be this privileged their entire lives fills me with enough hate to subside my relief.

I find the bountiful amount of arrows a few minutes later and notch one, then crouch down behind some of the bags and the edge of the centerpiece. The twilight grows longer and I know soon that it has lasted longer than it does in the real world. The Gamemakers have frozen it for someone's sake, and I wonder if it's for me until I hear a canon fire. Another follows suite, then another, and my heart sinks down into my stomach. My alliance could very well be dead now, but at least there is a chance they did manage to kill a Career.

Twilight ends rapidly after that, leaving me to sit there in total darkness. Lighting a fire or finding a flashlight is a lot safer here than anywhere else because of my position, not to mention the other tributes would probably mistake me for a Career, but it also lets the Careers know I've invaded. Time slows down dramatically again until the water splashes with someone getting in it, jerking my heart into overdrive.

The form is moving quickly, like a machine. The darkness is concealing their figure and face too much for me to determine whether or not that's Roscoe, so I call out tentatively, "T-Ten?"

They don't reply. They have nearly reached the shore, so I pull back my arrow. When they don't slow down, I fire.


	12. Part One, Chapter Eleven: Cannons

The arrow hits the person, seeming to sink in through their shirt. They cry out in obvious pain and start flailing back in the water, and with my heart pounding, I grab another arrow and notch it. I'm pretty sure this person isn't Roscoe and it is obviously not Tax, so I've got to try and protect myself somehow. I can almost feel the millions of eyes that are surely watching from the Capitol and the Districts as I pull back the string, trying to stop trembling as they begin struggling back to shore. I feel sick as I notice that they still have arrow lodged in their shoulder, but that has to mean they're a Career.

"Get back!" I yell, trying to sound braver than I am. They don't slow down and I yell again, "I'm warning you! I'll shoot you again!"

"District Twelve." Their voice is surprisingly female. "You have got idea how long I've been waiting to do this."

Something sharp sticks right beside my foot- A knife, meant to pin me in place. I can't be any more injured than already am, or I'll die. I jerk backwards, stumbling as I shoot another arrow at her head. She ducks easily and pulls out another knife as I fumble to notch another one of my weapons, backing into the slight covering the Cornucopia offers. I still couldn't climb up it if I tried, so we're both trapped in our positions.

She throws another knife while I snap the arrow in place, but I manage to avoid it by jerking to the side. I become unbalanced again but don't fire; it isn't likely I'll survive this, but it might actually get another lucky shot if I'm balanced. She's pulling her back her arm to throw another weapon when I shoot my own, and it sinks into her breast this time. She bellows out but doesn't drop her knife, so I scramble for another one. Maybe I can make her bleed out, but my heart sinks as soon as I hear another splash in the distance. She's got her backup coming.

While she's pulling my second arrow out of her chest, I run around to the other side of the Cornucopia. The thought that I am going to die in a few moments is terrifying, so I try to push it away as I put the next arrow into place. I'm going to go down fighting tonight, and I hope that it makes Prim and Tetri proud, and even Roscoe and Tax if they are still alive. I hear my competition cry out in pain and then she's stepping around the edge, throwing her knife blindly, so I shoot my arrow. Her knife sinks into my non-injured thigh and I scream, and her dark chuckling underneath proves I have run out of luck.

"Pathetic," she snarls, coming closer as my hands lose their grip on my bow. I'm suddenly pinned on my back, forced to stare up at her as she grins wickedly at me through the darkness.

I don't want to watch, but I make myself as she slowly pulls out another one of her small knives, tapping it against the side of my neck. She's obviously enjoying torturing me, and I realize all at once that I might be able to use this to my advantage. I let the tears come into my eyes and a gasp rasps out of my throat, making her smirk grow.

"Please!" I cry out, moving my hand very slowly to my impaled thigh. "Don't!"

She just chuckles, taunting me with just that. I get a grip on her forgotten blade in my thigh as she brings up her current one, aiming it carefully, taking her time with her work. Just as her she jerks down I yank my upper body to the side, allowing it to nip my neck as I yank the other blade out of my leg. I scream again, but jerk out blindly right after at an angle that feels unnatural enough make me immediately drop the weapon. I don't see where it sinks at first but she screams herself, beginning to cough and bend fully over me. I feel her body compulsions as I squirm beneath her weight, which is a lot more healthy than my own, but I can't get out until she finally stops moving.

Something wet splatters against my neck, but I don't have time to figure out if it's her blood or mine. A cannon fires in the distance as I finally fight my out from under her slack and rapidly massing body, feeling my stomach twist painfully when I see that the knife went directly under her ribs. I hear another splash nearby, then the sound of sand shifting under obvious weight. I am still definitely going to be killed here, but I find that I don't care. I was the reason for the death's of one of my friend's already, and now I just killed a girl not much older than me. I deserve to die in this way.

"Catnip?" I hear a voice call.

I tense up instantly. I probably deserve a death as bad as even this, but I'm annoyed with my fate. If he were any other tribute, any nameless face, this would be less upsetting, but instead he is the one thing that can really remind that I will never go home.

"Catnip?" He calls again, louder.

"Someone might hear you." I slowly step around myself, limping on my freshly injured leg. "I didn't know you were in the Career pack."

He snorts. "Of course I'm not. Veria and I heard the canons and came here to see if it was any of them, and I guess it wasn't until just now. Nice job."

He's complementing me on a fresh kill. I feel myself cringe as I take in the fluids now stained my clothes, her blood still slipping down my bruised and cut up cheeks. "Do me a favor and make it quick."

"Damn. So you are suicidal. I guess I was just counting on Haymitch being full of shit." I hear him snort again and the turn of his boots in the sand, and I am suddenly desperate.

"You came here to kill me, so do it!" I snap. I am tired of his manipulation and mind games, and he wants to be the Victor more than I do, so there is no reason for him to withhold.

"No. I came here to kill a Career, which I know you're not. So I'm done." He sticks a long blood into a holder on a belt at his side.

I pick up one of her fallen knives now, facing it to my heart; I am not going to let him taunt me with death. "Either you stab me or I'll do it myself."

"Really, Catnip?" He turns back to me suddenly, glaring fiercely. "You're going to dangle your life in front of me? You act like I don't know! I know you're going to die just as much as you do, and I'm not going to be the bastard that finishes off a helpless twelve year old kid. If you want to kill yourself go right ahead, because I'm not letting you back me into that corner."

He storms back to the water, jumping in without giving me another glance. I stand there, frozen, until he reaches the other side and shakes his head to Veria. I can't make out of her face, but she stares at him for a few moments before they start walking in the other direction together. I throw the knife into the sand again once they're gone, blinking back the tears of pure hatred and anger for Gale and for the Capitol for forcing us to play such a twisted game. He has shown me mercy I didn't want, and that's only prolonged everybody's suffering.

The wound on my leg is bleeding steadily now with the mark on my neck, and combined with my shoulder and the other thigh, I don't think I can move for much longer. I limp to where I was resting before, using the cream again and putting as much as pressure as I can until it stops the bloodflow, just like I watched my mother do when I was very young. I got sick after seeing so much of her patient's blood, but at least this is my own.

I'm not sure how long I sit there after that, gripping my bow and the arrows I have left. I hear the helicopter above me not long after Gale leaves, but I only watch as a large hook comes down and lifts the girl's body off of the ground. Once she's gone I remember I still had an arrow in her shoulder and curse to myself. Maybe I can refill before I try leaving this island, but I doubt there are any more quivers around.

When the sky lights up, I feel my gut tug with grief, even before the names are shown. I find out the girl I murdered was from District Two, and much to my surprise her twin's image joins her in the sky just after her own. District Two pulls in the most Victors every year, so for them to both die on the same day and this early is shocking. I'm sure the Capitol loves it, though, and because they are dead nobody but them will care in the end. I'm almost hopeful when the next face is from District Six, but the last face is from District Ten.

"T-Ten," I rasp out.

He had more of a chance of survival than I did, and now he's gone. I didn't even know that well, no more than I know Tax or even Tetri, but he was young and he had potential. He was more of my ally than Tax, he kept me alive, and I realize I even trusted him a little bit. He was my friend whether or not I was his, and he is dead.

I kneel over, gripping my stomach and shaking as I empty it. Now more than I ever I want to go as well, even if it's from my own hand, but now I'm remembering why I stood up to fight after I was Reaped in the first place. I concentrate on Prim's sweet, innocent face as Roscoe's final words to me replay in my mind.  _"Don't do something too stupid, Everdeen."_

* * *

I'm not sure when I fall asleep to that memory, but I wake again before the sun rises. How long was I out? A few minutes? A few hours? I don't know, but I do know that I should move. To where is the question.

I could always follow my original instincts and move toward the mountains again. I might finally have a real use of the extra layers of clothing, which have only made me sweat thus far, but I can't climb with my still weak shoulder. I'd likely fall down somewhere and freeze or burn to death if I tried hiking, so I decide to go to the other side of the Cornucopia. There are only nine tributes left alive, including myself, and I already know that Tax, Veria, and Gale are on the side I came from. Maybe if I journey to the other side, I can finally find Tetri.

Not surprisingly, the swim over there is agonizing. I tried to pack up as many things in two bags as I could, but it probably won't be enough, and my supply of the cream is nearly gone. I think back to what Haymitch mentioned about Sponsors and decide that I am going to have to hope they still like me. It's probably going to be the only way I stay alive, especially if I can't find my true ally.

The rest of the day I spend walking, taking various breaks to drink water but eating as I journey. I've been trying to keep my footing light, but all of my layers are making it nearly impossible, and I can't take them off because I don't have anywhere to put them. If I tried carrying the water bottles I might manage to stuff in the shirt, but I'm not willing to risk losing anything.

It's the middle of the day of the next day before I find another tribute. I just stopped by a small stream, and I am debating refilling my water in the clear waters when I hear footfall. It did not come from behind me, but this tribute is moving quickly. I feel panic catch in my throat as I try to soundlessly dart behind the treeline just behind me, peering between a couple of branches to watch. A couple of moments later a pair comes out, but the girl is carrying the boy on her back. His face is red with recent tears and his expression is crumpled, showing the true despair these horrible Games have made him feel. They are the pair from District Four, and because the boy is only a year older than myself, I can feel pity tugging from inside of me. None the less, I don't dare trying to move.

"Come on, Avian." The girl, who I abruptly remember is named Annie Cresta, encourages. "You're going to be out of here soon. There are only seven other tributes here besides us."

"What about you, though? This means I have to kill you." His tone is feeble, full of fear and as fragile as Prim's.

She slowly leans back, setting him on the ground as carefully as she can. Even though she's filthy and has a recent-looking scratch across her right cheek, she is still absolutely beautiful. I'm feel jealous of her even though it's probably stupid to be in this situation.

"You're not going to have to do anything to me you don't want to, Av." She shakes her head and kneels in front of him. "But I promise you're getting out of this alive, okay?"

"I can't kill you, Annie! Why don't you just let me die here?" He looks up desperately, grabbing onto her shoulders. "I can't let you die because of me!"

"And I'm not going to let you die on my watch. You have a big life ahead of you, even bigger than mine. You have to win." She looks miserable to talk like that, but we can all tell that she means business.

She turns away from him now, dipping a canteen into the water. He settles back uncomfortably and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Neither have sensed me yet, but I don't know if I want to risk them having weapons that they can use against me from their position. I just watch as Annie pops the lid off of a very small container, putting a silvery liquid into the canteen and shaking it.

"We have to give it a few minutes to set in," she warns when Avian instantly reaches for it.

He looks disappointed, but not for long. Suddenly he is sitting straight up, flinching as he jerks his hand from his side and into the grasp of his other. There's only a slight trickle of blood, but his ally- no, his  _friend_ \- is instantly grabbing, inspecting the wound, widening her eyes.

"What just happened?" She demands.

"I-I don't know!" His own eyes are full of surprise. "I...I think something just bit me. It might just be a mosquito or something."

She still doesn't look put at ease, but she lets go of his hand and turns back to the river, filling up another bottle and dropping the liquid in. That liquid obviously takes the germs out, because I recall seeing my mother use it before when my father brought up lake water during a water shortage. My name of this vital equipment is on the tip of my tongue as they both take long drinks from each of their bottles moments later, but I'll have to figure it out later. Because they're distracted by their water and his bug bite, I decide this is the best time to try getting away.

I don't make it very far before the leaves begin shifting under my own feet again. They still seem mostly distracted, but Annie looks over in my direction and I have to freeze. It seems that I only have to hope that they aren't going to be here long, because it just became very obvious that I'm not going anywhere while they're camped out.

As the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky, so does my own despair. Yet another day as passed by and I've got no sign of where Tetri could be. I wonder what day it is suddenly; I think it is the sixth official day. It has nearly been a week, and so many of us are dead now. The thought makes my somewhat full stomach churn and I hang onto the tree for support, concentrating on my two fellow tributes before me. Soon enough they will be gone, and I can keep looking for Tetri. It is all I can do at this point.

* * *

Annie and Avian do not leave as soon as I need them to. I'm clenched up with the desperate need to relieve myself and my stomach is twitching for my food, but I still don't want to risk moving. Annie looks like she's about to fall asleep, at least until Avian screams.

Earlier, I remember hearing him telling her the bite was swelling, and that it had some puss around it. We all forgot about it until now, and this time, Avian isn't even awake. Annie is on him in instant, shaking him, yelling his name, grabbing his hands as he begins to claw at his throats. His screaming has become muffled, like something is in his mouth, but when they cut off all together and he's making distressed sounds, I know whatever is swelling is making him unable to breathe.

Naturally, Annie is in a frenzy. She's feeling at his face, and her voice is getting hoarse as she continues to scream his name, begging him to breathe, pleading with the sky. Then she does something I don't think either of us expected. She grabs his shoulders and throws his barely struggling body into the river the second the sounds cease.

Maybe she was hoping this would wake him up or make him come to his senses, but it doesn't work. Instead, I watch with her as tiny fish dart to his body. His face only flinches as a little, and blood is suddenly spotting up from one his eye sockets where a fish is burrowing down to it. Annie seems too stunned to move or react at all as more and more of these tiny black fish begin surrounding his small frame, burrowing against his skin and causing more and more blood to begin filling the rushing waters.

His cannon fires. His ally finally finds her ragged voice and howls, and I have no other choice than to start running in the opposite direction.


	13. Part One, Chapter Twelve: Reconnection

I don't make it far because of my injuries, but I can no longer hear Annie's screaming by the time I stop. The marks on my legs feel swollen and one of them is bleeding, and sweat is coating my back, arms, and face, but nothing can compare to what I'm feeling in my heart. I didn't know Avian at all, but his death was so merciless and seemed so painful. No matter what kind of person he was, he didn't deserve that.

Going back to the river is out of the question. Those fish are deadly along with whatever bit Avian, so I've got to get away from it and Annie. She probably heard me, and she'll want to kill if she is anything like the tributes in past years after they lost an ally. As I start stumbling in the other direction, I make a mental apology to Tetri. If he somehow made it to the other side of the river, I'm not going to be able to save him.

By the time the sun rises, I've given out against one of the trees and am huddled up tightly to try and protect myself from the new dangers of this arena. The bleeding has stopped again in my leg, and I can feel the dried blood sticking to the skin, but there aren't any new bites when I check. I slowly get to my feet and continue walking, this time trying to go to the right. The District Ones are more than likely back at the Cornucopia by now, but maybe I can find something useful in another part of the arena.

The further I walk, I realize a few things. I truly do miss Tax. I never trusted him, not like I was beginning to do for Roscoe, but he was still something vaguely familiar. My realization of this would be much less disturbing if I was beginning to miss Tetri less and less. It had been so many days since I'd seen him, and I was now being reminded all the time that only one of us will win. Maybe if I never see him again it will be easier to accept if he dies. I also realize I'm not really afraid of the two Careers that are left. District One is dangerous but not as much as District Two, at least from what I had to watch before these Games, and I know they'll have to kill each other so the other can win. I could care less about Gale and Veria, but I am nervous about Annie. If she doesn't try and go on a mass kill to make up for Avian, she could go insane.

There are eight tributes left, counting myself. I think they do some kind of interview with the families of the tributes, and I try to imagine it for a moment. My mother, who isn't as beautiful as the Capitol enhancements made her out to be, sitting on the stage, motionless and unresponding to the questions. I think of poor little Prim, too scared to move and only squeaking out the answers. I remember I don't have much to win for, and all of my dim hope I built up around Roscoe and Tax completely dies.

I walk for a while before I begin to hear rapid footfall behind me. I turn around quickly and I'm instantly on my back, breathing hard with the tribute now on me. Fear shoots through me at the idea of this being Annie or a Career, but his eyes are wide and brown. He is just as afraid as I am. I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a sobbing noise while he stares down at me, seeming just as stunned.

"K-Katniss." Tears form in his familiar eyes.

I reach up and wrap my arms around him tightly. I blink back the tears, but I whisper shakily, "I've missed you so much, Tetri."

* * *

Tetri and I take refuge under a large tree tonight. He is in better condition than I'm in, but I still let him use some of my wound-binding cream for the slash across his cheek. For a while we don't talk, but I eventually decide I need to know what he's been doing for the past seven days.

"Where have you been?" My voice is ragged. My longing for him was dying just a couple of short hours before, but now that he is here I feel hope trying to enter my heart again.

He smiles weakly. "I went toward the mountains. I was trying to go after you and Hallow, but I lost my way. So I just headed there and hoped we might again. I was there about three days and I ran out of food, so I came over here looking for a river. I'm glad I found you instead."

I smile; he is a very nice person, just like my sister. I hand him one of my canteens and allow him to drink greedily while I recount what I've been through. I try not to talk too fondly of Roscoe or Tax and skip mentioned Gale and I's encounter at the Cornucopia, but I do show him my injuries at the end. His eyes are wide and he looks completely speechless.

"Try not to worry about me." I smile weakly and shake my head. "Everyone knew that I probably wouldn't make it past the Cornucopia. It's amazing I'm in the final eight."

"It's amazing for me too." He frowns. "Come on, Katniss. I made it because I was lucky. You made it because everyone knew you could."

"I'm not special. My luck is running out," I state dryly. "I am not a hunter. I am a coward."

"You aren't a coward." He forces my gaze to meet his intense one. "You allied yourself with someone like me and I know you protected Hallow until the very end. You never would have killed that girl if there was any other way. You are fighting for your family. That's so much more brave than everyone else in here."

I smile weakly again to humor him. "Thank you, Tetri. That means a lot to me."

It isn't true, though. I am a coward. He does not know that I killed Hallow by bringing her with me on my hazardous path. He does not that I tricked the Career so I could stab her. He does not realize that I will hardly have anything to return to if I by some chance one. He trusts me so much and that is going to get him killed. But I can't leave him, not when I just got him back.

He smiles at me, seeming reassured by my reply, and looks out to the rest of the forestry. Everything is colored by the setting of the 'sun', and for a moment, I wonder what time it is outside of the arena.

"So, what are we going to do tomorrow?" He asks innocently.

"I...I don't know." He is looking to me like Prim did and I don't have the answers. "I guess we'll try to find more supplies. What have in these bags isn't going to last forever."

He nods once in agreement and lays back, closing his eyes. I'm beyond tired too, but I can't let anything happen to him now. I owe it to him and to Hallow to keep him alive. He lean against the trunk of the tree and I watch the shadows consume the area. There are no new faces or canons until the sun begins to rise again, but it doesn't feel like it's been any longer than when I was walking before. Maybe the Gamemakers are getting bored and are trying to speed things up so they can have their Victor.

"Really?" Tetri mutters, his tone suggesting he is even more annoyed than me.

"You can go back to sleep if you want too." I slowly stand up, bringing out the bow I was so desperate to keep, the bow I murdered with.

He opens one eye and jumps slightly. "What are you going to do with that?"

"I'm going to hunt." I haven't tried to do that since we got here, but I want fresh meat. With death looming over our heads, having a rabbit or squirrel is a luxury we deserve if I can manage.

"You know how to hunt?" He seems impressed.

I think back again to the training center, and Gale asking where I learned my knowledge of the bow and arrow. I didn't want to tell him, not just because I do not like him, but because I could be killed off by the Gamemakers. What my father and I did was illegal; necessary to our family, but illegal. I am going to die anyway, though. Nothing from back home but my sister and the baker's son taking care of her matters now.

"My father taught me," I say slowly. "It was what kept us alive."

He opens his other eye and smiles to me. His innocence might kill me before the arena does.

"What's your family like?" He asks now, sitting up fully against the trunk of our tree. "I know you have a sister and your mother."

"They are all I have," I admit. "I...I love my sister a lot. I'd do anything for her. Her name's Prim."

"Prim? Is that short for something?" He wonders aloud. "Wait...Then your father..." He trails off and gives me a sympathetic gaze.

I nod solemnly, but it isn't easy to think about. It has been about a year since we lost him, since our survival fell onto my shoulders. Without him, our family is broken, empty. My mother is sick and my sister is starving. I am useless because I can't hunt like he did.

"Primrose." I finally manage out of her name, the face of the child I couldn't just let go.

He nods again and looks down. "Both of my parents are dead. A tree fell on our shack, and..." He seems to swallow with difficulty. "I've been living with the community home for three years."

He has lost just as much as I have. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. But it's okay." He smiles thinly and lays back down. "Good luck with your hunting, Katniss. Can I gather some other kind of food or something?"

I hesitate, but he doesn't want to be deadweight any more than I do. "You know how to do that?"

"Of course I do." He rolls his eyes and I crack a tiny smile in response. "I grew up in the forest."

"Alright. I'll see you tonight, then." I slowly offer my arms and he quickly joins me, hugging on firmly and squeezing the breath out of me. I embrace him just as tightly, gripping onto the back of his shirt and staying like that for a long time.

He gives me a smile when he pulls away, then heads in the other direction. My heart is heavy, but I do the same as the sun begins to rise into the sky.


	14. Part One, Chapter Thirteen: The Odds

The sun is high in the sky when I'm bitten. It doesn't hurt, but I slapped at the mystery insect and jerked my hand to look at the damage. It appears to only be a mosquito bite, but that is the same assumption Avian had. I doubt that I would be so fortunate, and the thought of that is how I will die brings on a sudden wave of anger. I was supposed to have been killed in the bloodbath like Hallow, but instead I've been suffering and worrying for eight horrible days. It's been torture and if it weren't for Tetri and Prim, I might even put an arrow in my own heart to end this suffering.

Because I do still have them, though, I try to ignore how much it itches and how the puss is already beginning to form. I finally find a squirrel in one of the trees and slowly pull back my pre-loaded bow, trying to be as quiet as possible. It's the first real thing I've seen all morning, and if I scare it off, I don't know that I'll find anything else. My fingers finally release and the arrow pierces through the small animal, and there is instantly a scream that follows. It isn't the cry of an animal, though. It's human, and I know that it's Tetri.

"Tetri!" I scream instantly, beginning to run in the direction I came from.

The world around me seems to slow as I burst into the clearing. The District One male tribute pinning my friend to a tree, seeming pleased as he screams in agony. His blade is cutting into his neck slowly, making his blood stream down his opponent's arm and pool on the ground. He is enjoying watching his prey be tortured and beg for mercy. He is not human, he is an animal. I'm not the best shot, but my father taught me to slaughter animals.

Tetri screams again and I am suddenly on my knees with a knife just above my head. Both of them are turned toward me with wild eyes, and I see that my arrow has sunk just behind the blade of District One's shoulder. I grab another arrow, but he's already running by the time I notch it, leaving my friend to fall to the ground. I start to him, but he gives me a weak smile and a wink.

"Make him pay for us, Katniss," he whispers.

Maybe this is his last request. I feel tears in my eyes, and this time I don't bother wiping them away as I race after the tribute who I know is going to be the reason my only friend left is dying right now. He treated Tetri like prey, but now, I'm going to be hunter my father always was. I stare straight at his back as I pull my bow in position, stumbling on my weakened ankles and grunting as I try to steady my aim.

We burst out of the main line of trees and I start slipping on weakened ground, meaning we must be getting closer to the river. He begins to slow his speed and I take the chance I have. My only weapon whistles through the air before it slices into his neck, and he lets out a scream as he slips forward. My heart feels like it's going to pound of out of my chest if it doesn't break first and the tears are flowing down my filthy face while I watch him struggle to rise.

Screams seem lodged in my throat as I stumble to him, grabbing his arms and beginning to drag him toward the river. I am going to throw him and give his district nothing to mourn over, nothing left of this filthy beast. By the time I reach the now pounding stream of water, I realize that I am screaming. A cannon fires in the distant and his body is nearly impossible to lift now, so it must have been his. My screaming grows louder, mixing in with the sounds of water as I fall to my knees over him. It seems like everything inside of me has broken and is too numb to hurt as the helicopter grows closer and closer to us.

Is Tetri dead yet? Have they already picked him up?  _Make him pay for us, Katniss._ Who is us? The other tributes? All of us poor Districts? Him and Hallow? What about Roscoe? He didn't know Roscoe. The helicopter brings down a large claw that picks up the corpse of the District One male. I remember his name Karat from the interviews, which are now replying in mind on a loop. I want to get up, but my body won't move as I remember the interviews and watch the helicopter vanish into the distance.

Tetri. I didn't know him very long, but I know I loved him. He was just a kid who suffered too long, just like I did. He had such a fun personality and he had all of those children I saw staring at him during his Reaping that cared about him. He lost everything when he should have won. He deserved it so much more than me. He could have made them all proud and someone a few years older than us ruined it because he thought it was just as fun as the Capitol people do while they're watching us.

I think back to the baker's son, and the promise he made to me. I'll never know whether or not he kept it, because now I'm willing my body to the water. I see the fish swimming hard against the currents as I tilt forward, letting my world be consumed by the water.

* * *

It feels like years pass. My hair is floating all around me as the fish begin to nudge against me, probably nibbling at my flesh. I imagine the world as being a deep blue as I begin to sink, feeling nothing above or below me as the burning begins inside of my ankle. The bite on my hand seems to burst and I take a breath, trying to hold in the cough while I start sinking even more rapidly.

When I risk opening my eyes, the light is nearly gone. The water burns my eyes and I can't help but bat one of the deadly fish from in front of vision, but it keeps getting darker the lower I go. I close them again and gasp when something grabs onto my ankle painfully, but that's when the blue I've imagined is replaced by black.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, I'm staring at the sky. I can no longer hear the river, but I can hear the sound of static very clearly. I can barely make out of the words, but when the night is quiet again, something beside me stands up and begins walking in the other direction. I notice that there's a fire as well, and because of that I decide that the person who just sitting beside me is a girl. I open my mouth to speak and start coughing up something wet and slimy, and she instantly freezes.

"You're awake." Her voice is familiar. "I thought you were gone."

Laughter follows her statement, but it's not wicked or cruel. It's soft and shy, kind of like how Prim would when she found something funny at a somber event. It's also ragged, not unlike my own. Maybe it was shredded by tragedy, too.

"How did I get out of the river?" I manage through my coughing, struggling to prop myself against a tree trunk as she continues to face the opposite direction.

"Pulled you out." Her voice is very soft now. "Not like him. I didn't pull him out."

I suddenly realize who she is and tense up. I don't understand why she would save me when I have done nothing to help or save her, but I'm too afraid to ask and make her kill me any quicker. For a few minutes we stay like that, me taking a deep, staggering breaths to try and even it out while she stares into the darkness. Once my breathing does steady, she begins to walk away again. She's mumbling now, and even though I don't know what she was thinking about doing with me, she heard the announcement and is probably going toward it.

I know I don't have anything else to lose, so I follow her. When we finally reach her destination, the Cornucopia, I begin to wish that stayed back to die. I can feel it in my body, though, as it becomes harder and harder to move, and by the horrible ache in my mouth and throat. I am glad that I wasn't devoured by Capitol-bred fish, but I am still not going to make it much further. I sink down into the sand and watch as she swims across, her red hair gleaming in the brightened moonlight as she easily glides to the island. Of course she would; she's from the fishing district.

She isn't alone on the island. Two figures are standing side beside, probably staring at her from the spot. Another figure stands alone on the other side of island, his shadow almost hidden in the ones from the remaining supplies. Another tribute it swimming toward them from the other side of the island, and I remember that we are all the Capitol has left for this year's games. They know that if they get us all together, it'll be another bloodbath to reveal their Victor. I can imagine they are all on the edge of their seat's as the other tribute climbs onto the island, lifting something large and pointed onto her shoulder.

The background noise of 'wildlife' is gone now. Everything is silent escape for their feet on the sound, and it takes several moments before it hits me. The announcement wanted  _all_ of tributes in one spot, even if the swim over kills me. I slowly begin crawling to the water again and am shocked to realize that my bow is still slung over my back, and even though I don't have any arrows, it still comforts me that my gift from Roscoe is still in tact.

The water splashes and I lift my head weakly, watching one of the massive forms approach me in quick strides. I know he is before he gets there, because of there was going to be anybody to finish it, it would be the one who I knew from the start of this hell.

"Hi Gale." My voice is weak and if it didn't hunt, I don't think he would of heard me.

"Hi, Catnip." His own voice is soft as he slowly pulls me up, draping my over his shoulder. I can't find it in me to try and protest as he slowly swims back across.

I don't realize how far we've gone until I see the island growing smaller as we past it. I open my mouth to ask what he's doing, but that's the when the first explosion goes off, causing him to dive underwater and drag with him. Whatever energy my body has left in it finally surfaces and I flail my arms and legs, gasping in painfully as I break the surface again. He comes up right after me and grabs my arm, not even looking back as another explosion vibrates the water. A form falls in the water a couple of feet from me as he continues to swim rapidly, lifting me out by the same arm as soon as we reach the shoreline.

"How...How did you know...?" I stutter, pushing myself onto my feet and staggering with the weight of my bow and my injuries that only feel worse.

He scowls at me. "Didn't you hear the announcement, Catnip? We've got to get the mountains if we want to get the hell out of here, but having to the the Cornucopia first was obviously a trap. If we hurry, we'll there before the ones who survived have time to get there."

He's suddenly got me over his shoulder and is running, leaving me to watch the night sky light up the fallen's faces.

_**District One Male** _

_**District Three Female** _

_**District Seven Male** _

_**District Nine Male** _

Tax. Tetri. Maybe if we'd been from the same district, we could have all been friends. I am left with the partner of the person who killed the closest thing I had to as a friend, the girl who saved my life but is also insane, and a boy who I swore revenge on. He is carrying me to potential safety, but just like the Cornucopia, it's a trap. By the end of tomorrow they will have our Victor, and even though I can't move right now, I know it's going to be me.


	15. Part One, Chapter Fourteen: The Finale

_Make him pay for us, Katniss._

Gale has fed me well. He and Veria made a good pair in their supplies, and since she is now dead, I'm left with her food stash. As he put it, they always knew that if they survived that they would have to fight each other, so they didn't share any more than they had to. Right after he told me this, he gave what was left of his meat and redressed my injuries. It feels like a trap, but he seems so sincere and nervous. I don't know what he's planning, or if he's planning something, but it's only a matter of time before one or both of us are corpses.

I'm still having trouble walking, but using a large stick that I found on the trek up, I've been able to support myself decently. He treks ahead of me with ease, occasionally glancing back to make sure I haven't fallen or stopped, but even I can tell the Games have taken a toll on him too. He has a small limp that I didn't notice before and he isn't wiping his forehead as frequently as me, which I think means that he's dehydrated. I think back to what the training instructor mentioned; Natural causes can kill just as much as a sword.

"Do you know her name?" By the time he speaks, I think we're a little more than halfway up the mountain and I feel like I'm going to give out at any moment.

"W-whose?" I mutter, clutching my stick a little more firmly.

"The insane one's." He stops walking abruptly and I stumble badly to avoid walking into him. "With the red curls."

"Annie," I mutter. The reminder of Avian and her horror comes back sharply and I try and force it down, but all I can see are those fish devouring him, and the fact I should be the dead right now for the same reason.

She shouldn't have saved me. Why did she?

"She allied a thirteen year old too, didn't she?" He muses, then scoffs as he kicks the ground. "Damn."

"What are you talking about?" I slowly seat myself and try to keep from shaking too badly as I put the stick into my lap.

He smiles ruefully, taking a seat himself. "Just reminds me of myself. Allying yourself with younger tributes is dangerous, Catnip. They always lose."

I stare at him as he fixates his gaze to the sky. "Then why are you allying yourself with me?"

"I wouldn't call us allies," he states casually. "But we're both going to same place. You and I both know that neither of us are probably going to survive this final battle."

"You are being slowed down by waiting on me. Don't try and act like aren't. I've seen you looking back." He is trying to save me like she did, or is at least trying to make me believe that, but he's risking his own life; It doesn't make sense.

"So I was looking back." He rolls his eyes. "You know, Catnip, it's a miracle you're still alive right now. I want you to win."

Everything around me seems to grow quiet. I can practically feel the lens all focusing on us as we stare each other, his gaze serious and mine full of shock that's quickly replaced by anger. He has been playing mind games with me since we got here, and now he says he wants me to win. He has a family just like I do, one that I know depends on him. He's trying to make me relax so he can kill me more easily.

"Who do you think you're fooling?" I whisper bitterly, pushing myself up with my stick to stand.

He boosts himself up more quickly and is suddenly towering over me. His breath is hot on my forehead and with one easy motion, he'll pull out one of his knives and end this. But instead he just scowls and begin to walk ahead of me, his fists still clenched tightly.

"It isn't that hard, Katniss," he snaps. "People care about you. You're amazing and you've already defeated the odds. The Capitol no doubt loves you. Our District is going to have something to talk about."

"What does all of that matter?" I say fiercely. "I don't want the Capitol to love me. I don't want District Twelve to be proud of me. I want to go home and forget this ever happened, but that will never happen! My family is dead!"

He doesn't turn around, but I can almost see his face hardening. "So that's it? You're not willing to fight so you can make sure of it? You are a coward, Katniss Everdeen."

My bow is heavy on my back and I find an arrow gripped in one fist. Now he turns, scowling as he sees my other hand grab my weapon. "If you're not, then prove me wrong."

I stare at him for a long moment and slowly let go of my arrow. It would be easy for me to just shoot him like I did the District One boy, but I can't do it. I have watched too many deaths and have killed two people. I can't kill the only thing I have left from Twelve, enemy or not.

_Don't do anything too stupid, Everdeen._

We don't talk much in the rest of the time it takes to get the top of the mountain. The sun has set early once again, making it harder to see what's right in front of me, but the Capitol seems to love watching through their night-vision technology in their cameras. The tributes being blind is always a fun twist to watch by their standards, or at least it seems like it. This has become somewhat of a tradition in the entire time I've been forced to watch.

Like Gale wanted, we seem to be the first ones here. There are three patches of flattened grass all spread apart evenly among the dry rock, and a pile of weapons lays sitting a few hundred feet away from us. It's tempting, but it's a mini Cornocopia, so it has to be a trick. I turn to my non-ally stiffly.

"Now what?" My voice is flat as my heart begins to pick up speed. This is the end.

"We wait," he replies plainly, saying it like a rehearsed line. He pulls out his dagger and walks away from me, leaning up against one of the larger rocks.

I'm too exhausted to argue or ask any more questions, so I hobble over to the other end and seat myself on a large rock. The stick I've been putting my full weight on isn't cracked or crooked, and I decide to try and use it as a weapon. Using a smaller rock with a fairly sharp end, I begin to saw on it, watching the wood shavings flitter down until I finally hear footfall from behind me. I drop the rock and instantly snatch an arrow, fumbling to place into the string and drawing back without even rising. My motions are mechanical, but they'll be expecting it. We all know who we're up against.

To my horror, my arrow sails right past Annie's head. Time seems to slow down as she stares at me, shock and confusion written all over her face. I'm sorry, Annie, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to kill you. But how can I let her die a brutal death at the hands of Gale or the Distict One girl when she saved my life? How can I let her die at all?

The sounds of Gale screaming snap everything back into motion. I whirl around and find him on his back, throwing the District One girl onto the ground and moving to pin her. She moves much more quickly than he does and elbows him in the side of the chin sharply, allowing her to scramble out from underneath him and pull her mace out of her back pocket. Her face is badly bruised and she's bleeding from her neck, but she wants to go home as badly as we do. None of us want to die.

I turn back to Annie when she starts walking to me, but she doesn't look like she's armed. She is on the verge of tears, though, and this worries me. If she makes any sudden movements, Gem might draw something and finish one or both of us instantly. Gale was wrong about me being a coward. If I have to go down, it's time to do it fighting. I have so many people I owe it to.

"Shh," I whisper, looking around for somewhere to get her out of the way. "Hey. You see those patches of grass?"

She stares at me a long moment, then looks to where I'm facing. I notice her nod and she begins walking toward them. Maybe if they explode, she won't feel anything and she'll never know I was the one to sent her to her doom. I, with difficulty, swallow the vile crawling up my throat and take aim toward Gem and Gale. They're both on their feet now and one side of his face is bloody, but she's stumbling with each step she takes away with him. She's gripping some kind of tube in one hand and her bloodied mace in the other, and as she brings the tube to her trembling lips, I can almost hear him growl.

"You didn't really think you'd win, did you?" She rasps out, her hands beginning to shake as well. "You're just a kid from District Twelve that got lucky."

Annie has crossed over the area of the weapons and is now approaching one of the areas of grass. I watch as she steps in the middle, and immediately a tube shoots up around her. She whirls around wildly, banging on the material. Her screams are muffled, but she suddenly freezes and drops to the base. A cannon fires in the distance and her body is lowered into the ground, briefly revealing a metal tube underneath. The trap wasn't the weapons, it was the areas that looked like there were podiums there, and I did send her to it. I murdered the person who saved my life.

Gem and Gale, I realize, were watching at once. Suddenly, Gem has dropped her weapons and is racing to the next area, seeming to have forgotten all about Gale and I. I can't bring myself to try shooting her before her feet touch the center. It only takes a moment for the tube to rise and for her to drop as well, and her cannon has fired.

Everything feels numb as I turn back to my District partner. His expression is hard as he looks to me, and tears are misting over my eyes. My arrow is still notched, which is what I think he's looking at more than my face. Slowly, he picks up the tube Gem dropped and steps closer. I feel frozen in place as he gets into a clear shooting range.

"It's poison darts," he muses. "I wonder what these would have done to me."

Vile begins to rise into my throat as he raises it toward his lips. He's going to kill me, and they only way to stop is to shoot him. I don't know if I'll be able to live with all of ghosts following me now. Maybe it would be easier for family to be completely wiped out of Panem; Nobody would miss us. We are just another family that was destroyed by the Capitol. We are no different from the rest.

Suddenly, Gale begins to laugh. Maybe he's remembering what I just did, because it's a pained laugh. His grip on the shooter tightens and he looks to me, his face stricken as the choked sounds of his laughter are forced out.

"Damn, I thought I'd die of starvation before this," he manages out. "I never thought it'd be a girl from my own District to do it."

My voice is thick now with emotion. "I can't kill you, Gale. I won't."

"You don't want to die either. No matter what you're thinking about it." He shakes his head bitterly and brings the shooter closer. "So we don't shoot each other. We both drop our weapons and wait until the Capitol decides who they want to win. Then they'll kill us."

"We're going to die either way. We have too." I can't afford to think like he's doing. It's pointless.

"Then...Then let's just shoot each other at same time! They'll bring back their Victor or something," he snarls. I see moisture glistening in his eyes and a shudder ripples through my body. "I'm dead either way. They're going to choose you. You'll be the youngest Victor in history and you're going to live a long life of victory and wealth. My family is going to starve out with me not around, and you'll forget all about this. I always knew you would, Catnip."

The nickname serves a horrible reminder to what life could have been if we hadn't been forced into this. Maybe, maybe we could have been friends. Maybe we could have learned to hunt together, and our families would be alright. But we'll never know now. I don't want him to be right, I don't want them to choose me, but he's probably right. He is rebellious and full of anger, but he is smart. He knows the way things are as much as I do.

"I'll take care of your family," I whisper. "I won't let them starve."

He gives me another crooked, rueful smile. He slowly drops the shooter and begins walking to last area of grass. My bow falls from my hands as he stands before it. The only sounds are our heavy breaths as the Capitol undoubtedly watches on the edges of their seats.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he mutters, making the tears in his voice obvious.

"I'm not." Maybe he's been on my side this entire time. "They're going to be okay."

"If I find out you lied, I'm going to be pissed." He turns around and smiles weakly, and I force myself to do the same. "See you later, Catnip."

He steps back and it throws me back into motion. I rush toward him as the tube comes out, screaming his name as it closes up and the invisible gas fills him. It does no good. He slumps back and the bottom of the tube lowers, taking away the boy I hated for so long away for good. The final cannon echoes in the distance, and I feel like the ammo in it just completely penetrated me. I keep screaming while sinking to my knees, barely hearing the voice of the announcer. I never thought I'd win, and now I realize I didn't want too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Victor of the 70th Annual Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen!"


	16. Part One, Chapter Fifteen: Victor

_"Shoot straight."_

_"Leave me, you'll win for me."_

_"I take you as a fairly intelligent product of the mining district, Everdeen. Are you going to prove me wrong? "_

_"She is from District Twelve, and she's made it this far."_

_"Don't do anything too stupid, Everdeen."_

_"Make him pay for us, Katniss."_

_"See you later, Catnip."_

The world is still moving around me and the ghosts don't go away when I open my eyes. They're voices keep screaming, almost mixing together as one, desperate plead for me to save them. I want to save them. I can't save them anymore. I never could but I always could.

"You're awake!" Octavia's familiar voice squeals, and seconds later her still hideous face appears above me. "Oh, darling! You're a star! An absolute star!"

"Well done, well done." Flavius appears beside her, his smile broad and glittering.

I stare at them with my breath going shallow and jerk to sit up. Several machines beep in protest, but right now I have to get out of here. I can't stay in a tiny room, or a hovercraft, or anything. I have to get out and breathe. I stumble as I rush toward the door, falling forward when it opens suddenly before I yank it open. Someone catches me in strong arms and I scream, beginning to fight.

"Don't touch me!" I scream again.

The person doesn't let go, though. They carry me back to the bed I was laying on, forcing my arms and legs to straighten as they put back in the wires and tubes. I catch a strong whiff on alcohol and choke on another scream.

"I know, sweetheart," he says quietly. Despite his stench, he is talking normally. "I know. You need this more than you think you do. It's your adrenaline talking, so be still and let them work their magic."

I don't feel hurt or tired. I feel alive, desperate, hungry. I have to get out of this room, away from these freaks. I can feel something injected into my arm and I grimace as it stings, but it instantly casts a wave of exhaustion over my mind. Haymitch meets my eyes as they begin to droop, pulling me under despite my desperate choked out cry.

"It gets easier, sweetheart," he whispers.

* * *

 

I stare at myself in the mirror for a long time after Icarus and my stylist steam leave. The Capitol has worked their magic, erasing all physical evidence of my being in Games. My skin is clear, flawless, I am completely clean, they healed my shoulder and ankle. I don't feel like I look, though. Inside, the ghosts are still screaming at me. Every move I make is stiff and every word I say is only what they want to hear. In a few minutes I'll go up on stage with Caesar to talk about being the Victor, and Effie has already had me look over what I'm to say.

There's a knock at the door. "Sweetheart? Can I come in?"

I close my eyes and turn. "Yes."

Haymitch enters wearing the same suit he's always worn. He looks me over for a minute, then sighs. "You look great, kid."

"That's all you have to say?" I'm not trying to be as rude to him because he's been the closest thing to a friend I've had the past week.

"What else can I say? You don't want to hear it." He pulls out his flask and takes a long swig. "You got down what you're supposed to say?"

"Yes. Effie made sure of it." My gaze goes back to the mirror. "Does it ever go away?"

"The feeling?" he asks, then holds up his flask, as if comparing me to it. "No. It doesn't. But it does get a little easier to deal with. You could always be like me and get something to help not remember."

"And if I don't?" My voice has lost all of the edge. I just want to die.

"You rely on your own self. I can't tell you how to deal with it every single day, but I can tell you that you aren't one of the ones that will just commit suicide or go missing no matter what you might feel like. You've made history, kid. You are strong." He takes another long swig and takes my arm, pulling me away from staring at the creature they've made me. "Now, come on and let's get this over with."

We are soon standing at the steps of the stage. Caesar is talking eagerly about the results, making the audience remember and react with every death. He keeps focusing on the tributes I dealt with, especially Gale, and I know I am not strong. All I want to do is curl up or let them send my corpse back to District Twelve. The thought of Prim can't even make me hold my head high. Instead all I've got is Haymitch keeping me on my two shaking legs as he drains both of his flasks.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, what do you say we bring her out?" Caesar yells excitedly to the crowd.

They roar in applause and I see many starting to get up. I look to Haymitch, feeling the same panic and desperation that set it when I first woke up out of the arena. He gives me a somber look, kisses my cheek, and escorts me out.

* * *

 

The interview becomes a blur two days afterward. I remember sitting there, not bringing myself to watch the screen as they replayed of the deaths and my moment of victory in a playlist. Caesar wouldn't stop congratulating me, the audience wouldn't stop cheering. They were so happy about me coming out on top of twenty three other children being left for dead. I can feel the Districts staring at me coldly as I pull out smile after smile, recite line after line. They don't know I'm just being their next martyr. They don't know that I fight every night not to end it all.

I remember two questions the most. "What will you do when you get home? Your family must be very proud." and "Do you have anything to say regarding the showstopping finale?"

To the first, I said that I was going to enjoy my new house in the Victor's Village and have a party for all of my District. To the second, I broke my image, as Effie would say. I felt tears build in my eyes and I had to take a few deep breathes before I could answer.

"I think that everyone was very skilled and brave," I say slowly. "And I...Never thought I would win out over them all. But I am the victor, and I am going to be the best mentor to everyone else who comes along. Happy Hunger Games!"

I am now on the train. Effie comes in and tells me that we are almost in District Twelve, that I should get ready. I am wearing the same outfit that I was Reaped in despite what Icarus picked out. I think about braiding my newly dried hair in it's usual two braids but plait it in one. I am not a little girl who couldn't hunt and tried her best to fill her father's shoes. I am a Victor of 70th Annual Hunger Games and nothing can break me because I'm already broken. I don't have anything left but I knew I wouldn't, so it doesn't hurt. It just feels numb.

The train stops and I meet Haymitch and Effie at the door where I'll step out on the platform. Both of them give me a hug and Effie tells me how proud of me she is, and then how she'll see me this time next year. I give her one last smile and the doors slide open.

Everyone in front of me is quietly applauding. I see Gale's family huddled together in the back, looking quietly stricken and tensing as I step further to the stairs with Haymitch. The youngest little boy is no more than what Prim might have been and has a stoic face too much like his older brother's was. I wince as I watch him hold the hands of his slightly younger sibling and wavering mother, who's clutching a small pink blanket.

Peeta is standing the closest to the stairs. People who can only be his family are not too far away. His mother looks solemn but not angry like I've heard she always is, and her hand is firmly clasping the hand of his father. Two boys, both older than Peeta, are on either side of them and staring at me intently. My mother and sister are nowhere in sight.

Peeta throws his arms around me, and seconds later, a pair of smaller, frailer arms join. I can feel my heart start to beat again.

"I'm so glad you're back," Peeta whispers.

After, Prim's soft voice chimes in, "I knew you'd win."

**End of Part One.**


	17. Part Two, Chapter One: Buried

I was eight years old when it started happening.

I woke up feeling cold. I was still getting used to the indoor air conditioner in our new home, so I'd gone to sleep wearing only a nightshirt and underclothes without any sheets or blankets. I sat up slowly, reaching out for my sister. I'd missed her terribly, and because of how young I was at the time, Mister and Mrs. Mellark would not let me watch her participate in the Hunger Games. Instead Peeta would play with me and take care of me like Katniss did before she was forced to leave, but it obviously wasn't the same. His older brother, Aish, told me that I was never going to see her again, and even when I did, I had reoccurring nightmares of her leaving or telling me she hated me. I didn't realize that he was referring to her being killed.

When I found her side empty, I slowly climbed out of the huge bed and padded down the hallway. I don't think Katniss knew that I woke up almost every time she crawled out of the bed and went somewhere else. I knew it was usually the woods so she could hunt and bring back extra food, but sometimes she would sit in front of the fire and stare into it like Mom did after Dad died. It scared me the first time I saw her doing it but I didn't say anything. On this night I found her doing it again and spoke up.

"Katniss," I whispered. "It's not morning. Come back to bed."

She didn't say anything, so I stood there for a long time, staring at the flames and trying to decide what to do. If I tried to walk her to bed she'd just fall down or not move at all like Mom, or she might yell at me or slap me like Mom did once. Katniss had been furious when she did, of course, but even though I cried I knew somehow that our mother couldn't help it. Neither could my sister, so I wouldn't have told Peeta's parents or yelled at her. All I knew then was that both she and my mother were very sick, and that I didn't want her be laid in the ground like Mom had been after she lost her.

Not knowing what else to do, I sat beside her and laid my head on her chest. That's where Peeta's oldest brother, Lavash, found us when he got up a couple of hours later. He tried to move me and even got his father to try, but eventually they left us be until she came back to me. She was confused at first, blinking like she didn't realize what she was doing, taking deep breaths, looking at me like I'd come from nowhere.

"Prim?" She sounded so fragile when she said my name, and all I knew how to do was hug her and kiss her cheek.

"It's okay," I whispered to her. "You're back now."

That became the normal for the next year and a half. She was sick and didn't have medicine, just like Mom, but she slowly got better. She had Haymitch and Mister Mellerk, who I still know could make the sickest person alive smile a little. She also had Peeta, who was so nice and always brought her flowers, and I made her tea and plaited her hair. Every time I found her by the fire I would sit with her, waiting for her to come back. A few times I missed school completely because of it, but it was only Mrs. Mellark would yell at me then. I didn't care because I still had my sister, and I completely believed she could get better even though Mom didn't.

She hasn't gotten completely better. She wakes up before everyone else, sometimes screaming and sometimes just to go hunting. Only once or twice a month she goes to the fire and stares out, but I don't mind sitting with her and talking to her. She's better than she was, and even though every time the Hunger Games comes around she leaves almost completely, I forgive her. She is still alive and she still tries to take care of me, and I still love her more than anything. Those are the only three things that haven't changed.

* * *

 

Katniss meets me at the door when I return from school as usual. I smile at her and wrap my arms around her, kissing her cheek before laying my head on her shoulder. Her hands squeeze the backs of my shoulders and she lets out a slow breath.

"How was school?" She tries after a few minutes.

"It was alright. Algebra is a little hard, but the teacher is helping me out," I assure lightly. "What have you been up to today?"

"I helped Lavash with making dough for cookies. They're really popular this time of year," she says distractedly. "Where is Peeta? Wasn't he going to walk back with you?"

"Mrs. Mellerk came by with a couple of baskets. She told him to make those deliveries first." The sweet smell of baking fills my nose as I peer over my sister's shoulder. "Are you making something now?"

"Lavash is. He says that he wants to practice for the Christmas-themed orders to come, but he probably just wants an excuse to have some sweets." She looks back over her shoulder to him and raises an eyebrow as he comes in.

"Hello," I greet, taking in his baking soda and cream splattered clothes. "Are you having fun in there?"

He offers me a crooked grin before looking to my sister. "The first batch is done if you want to put on the icing. Prim, you're welcome to help if you don't have too much homework."

I nod and follow them into the kitchen. We've been living in the Victor's Village for almost six years and I still can't get used to having so many resources and space, and even though it's nice, I agree with Katniss that it will never be home like our old house was. The Mellarks were in for less of a cultural shock, so I tried to deal with it for my sibling's sake. Despite this, neither of us are completely comfortable with it.

We stand together and smear green and red icing on the tops of the cookies for a while as Lavash works on the second batch. Aish returns home soon and, as usual, instantly retreats to his room. I can hear Mister Mellark snoring lightly at the end of the hallway, and soon Mrs. Mellark will come back to demand dinner be served soon. When Mom and I first started staying with them, she had an excellent facade of being nice to me while not so kind to everyone else, but that's worn off by now. She is still treats me better than she does her sons and husband and mostly avoids Katniss, but she still makes me very nervous.

"Good afternoon," Peeta says in greeting when he finally comes inside, blonde hair damp from snow..

"I didn't know if you were planning on joining us tonight," Katniss muses in a dull dry-witted tone. "It's nearly dark."

He gives us all a sheepish grin and wets a washcloth in the sink. "Sorry about that, but you know how Bethanne is. She was more than willing to have a lengthy conversation with me when I brought her her cupcakes."

Lavash chuckles knowingly and my sister and I reward him with a small smile. He, Lavash, and their father are all very nice and accepting, but it still isn't easy to consider them family. Katniss and I have lost both of our parents already, and with everything she's had to go through and what I've learned from her, I know she doesn't trust anyone and admittedly even I think it hard sometimes. No matter how good they are, they can never be Mom or Dad, and I carry that burden with all the dignity I have been taught and learned. 

"What are you up to?" Peeta offers now as he begins to clean up the countertop from our project. "Christmas cookies?"

"That's right," Lavash agrees. "I didn't figure anybody would mind having them now."

"Well, I know I don't." Peeta responds with a longing gaze to the treat before he looks to Katniss and I. "Do you? Katniss?"

"I guess," she replies distantly. "Prim, you really like these things, don't you? You used to drag me to the window and we'd look at them."

"That's right. Once Peeta even gave one time to me." I smile to him and don't acknowledge that she tells this story at least once a week every time we've made them.

"Yes. That was very nice of him." She looks back toward Peeta and gives him a nod of acknowledgement, to which he replies to with a smile and a nod of his own.

She's become even more introverted since her Games, but she has a special relationship with Peeta. He's the nicest person I know and has always helped her in every way he can, and I've known for a long time he loves her more than just a sister. I just don't know when he's going to make his move; even though the Mellarks haven't legally adopted Katniss and I, they consider us their daughters. I don't think Katniss would find it too awkward, but she rejects love from everyone, even from me to an extent.

Lavash soon puts the second batch of cookies in the oven and begins to work on fixing the squirrel meat Katniss brought him this morning. I know it's hard on her providing for seven people, but she's managed gracious kills and her money covers the rest of the expenses. If it was up to her I don't think we'd ever use a penny of it on extra food, but we both know we have to take care of the Mellarks like they took care of us.

"I'm going out," Katniss announces dully.

"I'll go with you," I offer. She's only that vague when she's heading to the Hob, and I love all of the merchants and families that make their living in the black market.

She pauses for a moment, staring at me. Her protectiveness has only grown over the years and sometimes she won't let me go anywhere alone or at all, which scares me a little. I know that it will be hard if I ever want to move out or make a living back in the Seam.

"Alright," she decides slowly. "But bring a jacket."

"Of course." I pull mine on and help her into Dad's.

We walk together out of the house in the opposite direction Mrs. Mellark comes from when she's returning home. Her hand is the only warmth I can feel as we go silently out of quiet Victor's Village and to the dirtier, drearier walks of the Seam. It's the only place I think I'll ever consider my real home, but it's the place where I buried both my parents and my childhood.

It takes a couple of minutes to realize we're not going to the Hob. She's led further east, down into one of the neighborhoods. She stops abruptly in the middle of the street, turning toward the too-small house I've been to more often than she knows.

"Katniss," I say cautiously. "Why are we here?"


	18. Part Two, Chapter Two: Seams

Katniss doesn't reply to my question. Instead, she walks to the well-worn door and knocks lightly, glancing behind to me. I know that's my cue to get at her side, so I comply and touch the slightly warm satchel that's been hanging from her shoulder since she announced she was going out. I originally thought she was going to donate some squirrel to Greasy Sae or trade, but instead she's feeding the family of a tribute that fell in her Games.

Miss Hawthorne answers the door and we are instantly greeted by the sounds of a child squealing within the house. She turns around and says softly yet firmly, "Vick, leave your sister alone."

Now she turns to us and we are faced with the reality that was our own only a few short years ago. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes are sunken in too far to be just past forty, and even through the loose fabric of her dress I can see the outline of her ribs. Katniss and I would have to feed them graciously every day for a year or more before she could ever look healthy, and even then she would give the majority of the food to her children. I think about her often, about what will happen if she ever gets sick and leaves those three alone.

"Hi, girls," she says softly. "How are you doing? Do you need something washed?"

"No," Katniss deadpans, sliding her satchel off her shoulder and into her hand. "We brought you dinner."

She looks sad, almost pained, but I can see the want and hunger in her gray eyes. "Oh, thank you very much. You really shouldn't have."

"I made a promise." With that my sister slips past her inside their shabby little home, leaving me alone with Miss Hawthorne.

"Hi, Prim." She smiles lightly at me and we embrace briefly. "Are you sure you don't need the food for your family?"

She knows that there are seven people living in one house and it worries her a lot. I know as well as she does that it's dangerous to have so many to care for, but because of Katniss's winnings we're still much better off than everyone else within our District. While families of two or three are starving and catching rats to get something in their stomachs, we can afford luxuries such as sugar and electricity.

"I'm sure," I reply carefully. "Thank you for your concern. How are the kids?"

"Posy is liking school," she says. "Vick hates school as usual, but he started helping with the business. I imagine you know how Rory's doing."

She's smiling thinly as she talks about her oldest, which causes me to blush. Rory is only a few months younger than me, putting us in the same class at school. After I heard talk around the District about Katniss's promise to feed her family, I decided to try and find them. It wasn't hard; Hazelle Hawthorne is pretty well respected throughout the Seam and even in the merchant class. Katniss was hardly able to provide for herself in that first year, so I began sneaking out late at night to drop food off on their table. It was Rory who eventually caught me, and ever since that night we've become good friends.

"You know him better than I do," I reply shyly.

"Well, that's what you might think." She rolls her eyes but continues smiling as we make our way inside.

Katniss has taken it upon herself to set out plates and distribute meat onto them. Posy is already at her side, half hugging onto her and half staring hungrily at the various nuts and herbs that she's scattering across their food. It breaks my heart every time I see her; she is only six years old and too small for her age, far too thin. I know she's the healthiest member of her family because of her age, but her ribs still strain through her back and her body is little more than bones.

"Vick! Rory!" Miss Hawthorne calls.

Vick comes down first, still damp from the work he has been doing with his mother. He has always looked a lot like Hazelle, but now with his stained clothes stuck to his torso and his hair cut out of his eyes, he's her condescended in a ten year old boy. The biggest difference is the want in his eyes, the itching desire to escape. He does not like working and he has been resentful ever since he lost both his father and his brother, but as Katniss might put it, he's not dumb enough to leave. He is far too young, and all of us know that they're family could hardly take another loss.

Rory hurries in not far behind, smiling at me but quickly switching his gaze to the food on the table. Miss Hawthorne makes them all sit down first, insisting Katniss and I join them until we have no choice but to eat a few nuts ourselves as they tear into the squirrels.

"I'm sorry we didn't bring much," Katniss says weakly. I know she's just as pained to watch them be so desperate. "We'll bring more tomorrow."

"We are eternally grateful for any little bit you provide," Miss Hawthorne assures as soon as she's cleared her plate. "Kids, what do you say?"

"Thank you!" Posy mumbles around the fist she's all but stuffed in her mouth.

"Thanks." Vick is up and out before we can reply, but his plate is clear and that is all that matters to Katniss.

"I'm more of a rabbit kind of guy," Rory smiles at me but instantly drops his teasing when his mother glares at him. "But I really like squirrel, too. Thank you, Katniss."

Katniss stares at him for a long moment, then accepts his response with a simple nod. Before I can get up and put their plates away from them I feel his hand over mine, squeezing it once and meeting my gaze briefly. A second later he gets up and walks outside, leaving me to tell my sister that I'll be back in just a few minutes and follow him.

I find him behind their house, leaning against the rotting wood and rusted metal. He looks so alone the last remains of day, illuminated by the dying sunset. He gives me a small smile when he catches sight of me once more, motioning for me to stand by him. As soon as I do he slides his fingers between my own and I squeeze his hand in return, which has become our way of reassuring each other. I didn't lose my sister when he lost his brother, but I did lose my mother and had we been completely alone, I don't think we could have handled it. I remember many nights after dropping off food we'd come to this spot and hold each other's hands, crying or talking or sometimes just feeling each other being there. For two children, one lost in poverty and the other racked with pain that wasn't her own, having someone going through the same thing is all that they needed.

"How is she doing?" He asks.

"She's getting better," I say slowly, managing out a weak smile for him. "She's been talking to Peeta more and more, too. I can tell he's really excited about it."

"Do you really they'll like each other? I mean, you all are kind of related now." I make out his crooked grin through the rapidly approaching night. "Are you telling me you are supporting incest?"

"Rory!" I complain, letting go of his hand briefly in order to push him. "We are not related!"

He laughs regardless and I find myself giggling despite how ridiculous he is, quickly relocating his hand and giving it a tighter squeeze. We don't stand there much longer despite how much I'd like to; Katniss needs me.

"How are things, actually?" I ask quietly. Miss Hawthorne is a strong, determined woman, far too capable to reach out for help, but the Seam is place for glory. 

"Vick is getting sick." By the tone of his voice and by how he doesn't make a comment on his rhyme, I can tell he's very concerned.

"What kind of sick?" Images flicker through my head of both my mother and my sister.

"Like, the kind of sick that Katniss was." He swallow dryly and looks down at his bare feet. "I mean, I don't know what to do. I don't know if Mom even notices anymore because she's got to look after Posy and the money. I talk to him more than she does, but he barely wants to do that now. He's always tired and is always angry about...Everything."

"Are you sure it's not just because he's coming into his age?" I ask softly, but we can both see the truth for what it is.

"He's sick," Rory confirms weakly. "And I don't know if I can make him better."

His words hang above our heads, making the air thicker. I think back to five years ago, when I was so young and so fragile. If I had lost Katniss and my mother, I don't know what would have come of me. Rory lost his father and his brother very close to each other, and the difference between our older siblings is that we all knew, or at least hoped we knew, that Katniss could overcome her sickness. Vick lost his father when he was only four years old, not old enough to remember him fully but old enough to know what he had to miss, and then lost the closest thing he had to a father the year after. He was being forced to grow up too quickly, and as terrible as it is, there are a lot of people in the Seam who can't handle that. He longs for a childhood and isn't as mature as Rory; being sick now is only going to make the next few years unbearable.

"Does he even know what it means to kill himself?" I ask softly.

"I don't know, but if he doesn't I don't want to give him any ideas." All of the playful exterior in him is gone. "I just hope he comes out of it."

"Me too." I know what's it's like to have someone in your family commit suicide; Mom made herself bleed out just a week after Katniss was pulled out of our lives.

He looks to me with pained eyes. I know he doesn't like to bring things up like that around me, and while I can't say it doesn't bother me, I don't mind. Reality is harsh in the circumstances where we live, and that is neither of our faults. That is why we have to hold tight onto what we claim because it really is all we have, and if we let each other go, we crumble. Without Vick I don't if the Hawthorne family could survive, and I doubt I could survive without Rory.

"I have to go," I say softly. "We'll come back tomorrow. I might be able to bring you all something sweet then."

"Can't wait." The playful and relaxed facade returns and he squeezes my hand one more time, leaving the truth of how he really feels with that.

Katniss is waiting for me when I return. Miss Hawthorne is still in the kitchen but is now washing clothes as Posy plays with two handmade dolls nearby. I don't see Vick but don't want to interrupt his mother's work to ask, so I just take my sister's hand and excuse us out. The walk back to Victor's Village seems longer tonight, but if my broken and healing sibling notices, she doesn't say anything, so neither do I.


	19. Part Two, Chapter Three: The Rule Change

_I'm a scrawny eight year old again and I'm at Katniss's Reaping. I can't see anything above the rows and rows of potential tributes in front of us, but I'm not worried about them at all, at least not then. I'm sure if someone else had been picked I would have worried and cried for them all night, but at that moment I was just terrified for my sister. I barely knew what the Hunger Games were, but I couldn't bear the thought of being left alone without her. She was like both of our parents now that Mom was so sick and Dad was gone; I couldn't have handled losing her for good. Katniss is gripping my hand just as tightly as I'm holding hers, and I can see the terror in her eyes because she wasn't quite as good as repressing emotion on her face as she would be._

_"Katniss Everdeen!"_

_This is where the dream becomes partially inaccurate. I watch in horror as the sea of people all part, there eyes full of excitement as the Peacekeepers drag my sobbing sister onto the stage. When she lifts her face it's bloody, and I can't help but surge forward to help her. All of the authorities are yelling at me and clawing at me to peel me off, but somehow my grip is too strong. She stares it me with horror-filled gray eyes, her throat emitting a terrible sound of panic._

_"Prim!" She howls and falls back in my arms. "Prim, help me! HELP ME!"_

_I hear in a cannon in the background and gawk at her limp body, slowly laying her down and turning around. Now everything is in slow motion as the crowd roars in approval, the Peacekeepers turning their attention from containing me to carrying away her corpse. I scream shrilly and the crowd responds gleefully, even cheering me on as I run back to Mom. She's laying on the ground with several slits down her arms and throat, the knife plunged clumsily into her chest as the final seal of death._

I sit up in bed and muffle my scream into my balled up fingers, wincing when my back and neck muscles shriek in protest to the sudden jerking. Katniss shifts slightly beside me, and through the darkness I feel her stoic gray eyes looking over me. She's groggy and I can't stop shaking, so I can't touch her without scaring her completely, but I still manage to steady my voice.

"D-don't worry about me," I manage softly. "I just need...I just need an extra blanket."

Her hand comes out to touch my hair before it trails down to my shoulder. "You're shaking."

"Like I said, I need an extra blanket." I quietly release a sigh to calm my trembling nerves a little, softly pulling the sheets around her and kissing her head. "I'll be right back."

"I'll wait for you," she murmurs as I slide off of the bed.

I know she will, so I'll have to brief with my staged endeavor. I can't get the image of my lifeless sister and mother out of my head, and I can't help but think of the day Dad left for the mines and never returned. Katniss got me out of class and we met Mom on the square, and while several families saw their loved ones pulled out for a teary reunion, ours never re-emerged. I know his death didn't haunt me as deeply as it does Mom and Katniss; my sibling always made sure I didn't understand death completely until I saw it watching her come so close to it.

Katniss is alive and she's waiting for you, I remind myself as I creep into the hallway long enough to retrieve a thin blanket from the closet where we store them. My sister survived and continues to survive, but even that isn't enough to ease the tears rapidly falling onto the front of my gown. I lay the blanket over our bed and climb next to her, pressing my back into her larger frame and holding her arms as she wraps them around me.

"Sleep well," I whisper as she undoubtedly eases back into her typically restless slumber.

I'll likely be just as restless tonight if I can manage to even close my eyes again. I can't help but think I wouldn't be shaken by my nightmare if that image of Mom wasn't so real, the very thing I saw upon walking in from school after the day Katniss forged an alliance with the District Nine and Ten boys.

* * *

 

"You are so beautiful," Mrs. Mellark croons as she fashions my hair into two braids like I used to wear all the time. "You truly look like me when I was your age, you know. I couldn't keep the boys off of me."

She casts a look in Mr. Mellark's direction, one that's a mixture between discontent and weathered acceptance. It's obvious their marriage is one full of holes, which makes me all that more grateful in hindsight to how much my parents loved each other.

"Anyway, you don't look anything like your sister," she continues as she toys with the ends of her handiwork. "She took after your father. If her hair were any shorter, I'd swear that she was him! Don't you agree, my precious little flower?"

She seems to have taken a hobby in reminding me what she really thinks about my real family. She's always subtly portraying Katniss as a masculine thief, as if she wasn't always teetering on the edge of gruesome death for my mother and I. She fought bravely for us in the Games, I know she did, and it fills me with horrible resentment toward the woman who did take me into her home when Peeta informed her of my mother's suicide.

I hate how much I resent her, even if it was her who confirmed I could live with them so I wouldn't be thrown into the community home. We all look so much alike the Peacekeepers either haven't noticed or don't care as long as we all play along with their media stunts, and as long as Katniss is their good little doll. Mrs. Mellark hasn't ever laid a hand on either of us while slapping and screaming at her biological family is second nature, but I don't think she's even remotely above it if I ever showed any disrespect.

My sister has to play along with whatever the Capitol wants to keep them all happy and in the 'Hunger Games spirit', so I play along with whatever she says to keep her happy to care for me. I think she'd really prefer it Katniss never returned and she could completely adopt me through our practically obsolete legal system, but I know Katniss will sign for complete legal guardianship after the Quarter Quell. We just have to wait them out until then and then...Katniss hasn't specified what comes after that. The Victor's immediate family are the only ones allowed to live in the Village with them, and if I'm legally adopted by her, the Mellarks' may be forced to evacuate. Even if she's so damaged to not see the cruelty in that, I can't let her do that if it means they're ejected. After all, without them I would have been dead before she returned.

"Yes ma'am," I answer carefully. "Would you like me to do your hair?"

She smiles and opens her mouth, but my sibling pokes her head in the bathroom before she can answer. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"No problem." I stand up and look to my 'mother' sympathetically. "May I take a rain check?"

She looks disgusted only briefly before giving me another one of her syrupy smiles, sliding to the seat I was previously in. "No problem, flower. I'll do my hair for now; you say goodbye to...Katniss dearest."

I step out hastily and hug my sister tightly, carefully adjusting Dad's old jacket over her frail frame. I know she can't handle the announcement of the Quarter Quell when she hardly stand the month before the Reaping, so I don't expect her to stick around. The Peacekeepers will be monitoring the village to ensure we all get the announcement, but she's learned a way to escape their watchful eyes and cameras. I have to trust she'll do it as successfully as she has all of this time as I fill her satchel with rations for the evening.

"Are you sure you can't come with me?" She inquires after I hand her bag to her.

"It's too risky," I remind her gently. I've never over-familiarized myself with the world outside of District 12, I'd only weigh her down, and my absence would likely greatly upset Mrs. Mellark. "Please be careful."

"I will." She stands up and encases me in one more hug. "I'll return before midnight. Don't wait up for me; you need your sleep."

Even now she shows signs of trying to be the older sister/mother figure she's always tried to be for me, and while I appreciate it, our relationship is more complex than either of those roles now. "I will. See you soon."

She smiles thinly, a rare but treasured sight. "See you soon."

"Katniss?" Peeta tentatively approaches from the living room. "The Peacekeepers were just here. You might want to get going now that I've promised them we're all here."

Their eyes meet for a long moment before she nods and touches his shoulder with her fingertips. "Thank you."

Just like that she's gone again, slipped in a compartment behind one of the ceiling-to-wall decorations that Mrs. Mellark still doesn't know her husband made for us on her thirteenth birthday. I'd cried and thanked him vehemently then, and even now I sit beside him in the living room long enough to kiss his cheek in appreciation. He smiles and I spot Peeta beckoning nervously in the corner of my eye, his pale frame showing both nerves and determination in the doorway.

"Prim," he says quietly as he approach him. "Do you...Do you think she honestly...Can stand me?"

"She feels for you more than that." I smile thinly and lightly tilt his chin up. "We both know how broken she is. You can't always read too much into how she reacts to things you do. I think she's trying to get better, but it's not going to happen overnight or even in...well, five years."

"Five years," he echoes and smiles nostalgically toward me. "Five years did change a lot of things, but it kept some really important things the same."

"She'll come around," I assure.

Behind us, the TV automatically switches on and I hear the faint click of our front door lock. Mrs. Mellark walks in with her hair braided to the side and I can't help but vaguely hope my hair doesn't look so rough as I take my usual seat beside her on the couch. Lavash comes in dragging Aish, tossing him back onto the chair and seating himself on the floor beside him. I watch Mrs. Mellark smack her husband's hand when he tries to hold hers and Peeta sits on my other side, his face becoming so somber it reminds me of my sister, the girl he is madly in love with.

The Capitol commercial soon ends and shows an arena completely full with Capitolities both young and old. Before them security guards swarm around the premises, holding small metallic pieces in their ears with their lips moving very quickly. They're not like the Peacekeepers; they're more prestige, more formal and less expendable to where they don't have to hide their faces. President Snow is standing before all of them, clean cut in a completely white suit and looking somewhat delighted by the cheering.

I don't listen to most of his speech about the traditions of the Quarter Quell or the top predictions the various people of the Capitol cashed in with. I refocus my attention when a young boy, no more than five or six, steps up onto the stage carrying a small box. He reminds me of Posy, save for the gelled pink hair and healthy amount of fat on his small body. He approaches Snow calmly, confidently, and holds the box that creates a tremendous excited uproar. I feel Peeta wrap his arm around me as our president opens the lid and looks over the paper.

"For the Third Annual Quarter Quell..." He speaks calmly, but the sadism in his eyes reminds me of a hungry beast. "In remembrance of the various relationships tributes leave behind, create, and destroy every year, this year's tributes will be pulled from the families of the existing pool of Victors, as well as having two companions reaped alongside them."

The Capitolities erupt in applause. Our household is silent for a few long moments. If they're reaping companions, they'll likely have a second drawing, one that's rigged with people who they know the person originally reaped loves. They've been watching us all ever since the last Games, or at least since they decided it would be a fun twist to torture their districts. They're going to slaughter seventy two children for one Victor, which is grotesque and terrifying show of power and politics. The worst part of it all is that this is just like the last Quarter Quell, the one that our other surviving Victor won, but the carnage is so much worse and it's even more complex to ruin our lives.

"Guess the Reaping isn't so random after all," Aish sneers. "Turn it off, Dad."

Last year, I was terrified I'd be picked upon becoming eligible. It isn't an unusual thing to see younger siblings reaped after their older ones are, especially if said older sibling is Victor. The Capitol doesn't think twice about it other than the fact it's a good show, and while the Districts ache with the knowledge, they're too afraid to protest too loudly.

Of course, there is absolutely no getting around my entering the arena due to the first half of the 'fun twist' of this year's game. I've diligently learned as much as possible since I was eleven to increase my chances of survival if/when I got picked, but knowledge can only do so much against raw power. Katniss is going to be devastated to the point she'll get sick, and if I die she likely won't ever get better. My mind is swirling as Peeta holds onto me even tighter, breathing out slowly and gripping me because he knows as much as I do. He's eligible too, both to be reaped and in the regard he's been a second guardian all of these years. Aish has never openly showed anything other than hatred for me, so his lack of concern is typical, and Lavash, Mr. Mellark and Mrs. Mellark are far too old.

The realization hits me like a boulder in the pit of my stomach, causing me to let out a sob and grip onto Peeta like they've already announced our names.

_Rory._


	20. Part Two, Chapter Four: Selection

**The Day of the Reaping**

They came before the sun did. I've been laying in the bed since said sun went down last night- I had nothing else to do and I didn't want to talk about what was very soon going to become our reality- so I'm anxious to rise again when I hear the door slam open. At first all I see is the white of the helmets, then the Capitol symbol on their shoulders and foreheads. Katniss, who's been laying here just as long as I have, doesn't bother resisting when they grab her shoulders and haul her to her feet. This has happened every year for the past five years and will continue happening until she's dead. Attendance of the Victors at the reapings isn't an option, and after they caught her heading in the direction of the woods one year after her games, they've decided to best way to ensure her presence is to physically force her themselves.

"P-Prim." She gasps out my name, her gray eyes locking gazes with my blue ones in pained desperation.

"I'll see you right after, Katniss-" I manage out before they've dragged her out of the door with another crack of the wood.

They have only been gone for a moment when I hear Mrs. Mellark's outraged cry, screaming after them loud enough to annoy us but not loudly enough for them to hear. I sit back against the wall and pull my knees to my chest; the loneliness is a more comforting disposition than the despair that's pumped through my veins like blood since I turned twelve. Today is going to be the day I'm going to lose everything and there's nothing I can do about it other than keep studying survival techniques and hope it's enough to at least get one of my companions out alive. After all, the limited physical training my sister gave me the months before the last Reaping ceased the rule changes' announcement; the monitoring was too heavy thereafter, and living to see my death is a more dignified way to perish rather than be publicly executed for treason.

I'm smart enough to wait for Mrs. Mellark to roll back into slumber before I move, but my adrenaline is bursting by the time I finally deem it safe to rise. Rory and I agreed that we would meet up this morning and keep each other company all the way until the Reaping, where we both recognize we'll either be boarded off together or torn apart. Miss Hawthorne knows, of course, but I didn't bother to tell the Mellarks. As nice as Lavash, Peeta, and Mister Mellark are, even my slight urge to alert them of my absence isn't enough to compensate for Mrs. Mellark forcing me to stay. I suppose I'll really see when I'm shipped off how much of an attachment she's really developed to me.

"I thought you'd never show up." His voice is soft in the darkness, and even in the very beginnings of the morning light, I am able to detect his hand outstretched toward mine.

Quietly, I interlock our fingers and begin walking with him. We have no set place to go, and neither of us are brave enough to attempt the woods now, so we'll just drift until forced to do otherwise. Colors are beginning to break the darkness by the time my companion speaks again.

"Have you been eating?" Four words spoken so tentatively, I can't help but feel a pang in my heart.

"Yes," I say quietly. "Oh! I almost forgot."

I look down at the box I've been clutching to my chest subconsciously; I stole two cupcakes from one of the staler batches and completely forgot I was carrying them until now. Rory gives me a Look, one that's full of enough light teasing to make me smile despite the aching dread.

"I was kind of wondering when you were going to tell me what you got for us," he comments with a light laugh.

I softly join in with his laugh, letting go of his hand long enough to peel back to the top. "Maybe we should find somewhere to enjoy these more privately."

"Since when is eating cupcakes a crime?" He teases, but nevertheless he follows me back behind one of the shacks we've been passing repeatedly.

Now that's it becoming even more light, I notice how formerly he's dressed. It hits me like a slap in the face once I sit down in the dirt that he's wearing the set of clothes Gale wore in his last Reaping. I'm wearing one of Katniss's old shirts and skirt myself, but it's not sentimental to either of us at this point. It's only natural that he'd refuse to get his clothes dirty if it could be avoided, given the circumstances for his mother's employment, but it's still alarming he'd look his best in his deceased brother's uniform. It's because of that I quickly rise again and offer him a thin smile that he returns grimly.

"Do you think it'll hurt?" He asks softly after eating half of his treat.

"What do you mean?" I question into my own pastry.

"You know...dying." He fixes his gaze downward and I swallow dryly.

"You can't talk like that," I finally mummer after a few moments of long silence. "No matter what happens, we have to try to believe that we'll survive. If we believe we won't, then we're as good as dead now."

He pauses, then nods slowly in agreement. The fact he does relieves me; I haven't lost my Rory just yet.

* * *

 

We're holding hands until we get up to the sign-in table. I can't help but flinch when they prick my finger, which leads to me mentally scolding myself rather harshly; I can't be fazed by a little needle taking a drop or two of blood when the rest of my DNA is probably going to get splattered at the Cornucopia. After Rory is out of line, I can't help but hug him one more time for as long as I can. I'm not brave, not when I know the odds of me  _not_ being picked are definitely beyond not in my favor. Even after I'm reaped, his chances only rise due to Gale having been one of the Capitolites' favorites in Katniss's Game. The thought of losing him scares me more than dying myself; he's been my rock and I love him.

"We'll be okay," he manages to softly whisper in my ear.

"Somehow," I murmur for him. "Maybe we'll find some peace even if you do get picked."

"Good luck." He pulls away and softly pulls me forward to kiss my forehead, managing a bitter grin full of irony. "And may the odds be forever in your favor."

After Katniss went in and came back when she was twelve, the odds have never be in our family's favor. I still wish him the same in the same manor and go to join the other thirteen year olds as he slips in with the fourteen year olds. Most of them look as terrified as I feel, and nearly everyone is gripping onto someone else as tightly as they can before they part or while they're standing in the same roped-off area together. It probably isn't the smartest idea to do so, as it only only re-enforces who the Capitolities while want to choose, but if Rory and I were the same age I know we'd at least be holding each other's hands.

My sister looks beautiful up on the stage. Her hair is braided to the side in a French braid, something one of the stylists' likely did for her, and she's dressed in the a dress I recognize as the one she wore for her post-Game interview. Haymitch is beside her and obviously drunk, which is nothing new, but this time he's at least somewhat upright in his chair. Both of them don't change expression as Effie mounts the stage; this year her hair is a pink, and her makeup is actually somewhat subtle. She hasn't changed much in the past five years, but she has shown both of our Victors compassion. I'm not sure how much of it Katniss can register or cares to internalize, but I think she's at least a little grateful.

"Welcome, welcome!" Effie chirps excitedly and launches into her usual mandatory speeches. When I was younger these drawn-out reminders couldn't take longer, but now they don't take long enough.

"Now, the time has come to select our female and male tributes for this year's Quarter Quell!" She eventually trills and flashes a gaudy smile at both the crowd, then back at Katniss and Haymitch. "And as you know, each tribute will be drawn from the existing family members of the Victors that are currently eligible, and then will be accompanied by two companions! Isn't that exciting?!"

The usual silence doesn't bother her. She makes her way to a bowl quickly, her hand hovering above the names for a moment before she plunges it in to the point I can see the bottom papers rustling. I wonder if my name has a little marking to help her find it quickly, or better yet if every name in the bowl is mine. She finally pulls out a peace and holds it up for dramatic effect, smiling once more at us as she carefully waltzes back to her the microphone. The only sound is her unfolding the slip, then her opening her mouth to speak.

"Melaina Creek!" Effie announces so boldly she hardly needs the microphone.

The silence returns before a scream. The crowd parts as the Peacekeepers begin shoving their way in, revealing a girl with short black hair clutching a girl behind the rope seperating them, one with the same eyes and longer hair, with tears running down her face. The girl fighting is obviously furious, kicking at the Peacekeepers and spitting as they seize her and throw her onto the stage. The sight of the scream was definitely male, and I'm confused only for a minute before I see some of the boys helped a young man with long hair and a grief-crumpled face back to his face in the sixteen-year-old section.

"You bastards!" She shrieks and Effie recoils, looking frightened and even a bit annoyed. "You damn bastards! Haven't you-?!"

"Now, now dear, that is quite enough..." Our hostess tentatively attempts.

To everyone's surprise, Melaina does quiet down after that. She straightens her back and squares her shoulders, placing her hands on her hips and giving someone in the audience, probably the girl who was trying to hold her just a little longer, a wild grin before doing the same toward the grieving boy. Effie slowly makes her way back to her and straightens the microphone a bit more, sighing softly in relief.

"Now, are there any volunteers willing to take Melaina's place?"

I stare at this girl, her skinny but not spindly frame, the determination on her face, the way she holds herself so aggressively it scares me a little. She's probably impulsive, but she didn't have to be shocked to stop fighting the Peacekeepers like some, so she's got to be smart. I feel my lips part and the girl beside me looks at me with wide eyes, but I force them shut. Melaina is obviously brave and is going to prepare herself, and because she is so bold, she has a better chance of survival than I do.

"Very well. In that case, we'll move onto the male tribute," Effie announces.

She does a similar procedure to how she fetched the girl's name, and as she does I feel my breath hitch in my throat. I may not have been selected, but Rory's name could still very well be selected.

"Rory Hawthorne!"

I almost miss it because of the fear clouding my senses. Rory Hawthorne. She said Rory Hawthorne, and then I see him. His eyes aren't wide and his hands don't shake; instead, he merely walks onto the stage beside Melaina. He's brave even though I know he's terrified, just like Katniss. I watch her expression as well; she doesn't seem surprised, but I know it really hurts to see someone who looks so much like Gale up on the stage destined to die.

Two Peacekeepers that were standing on either side of the stage walk to the center of the stage now. One of them reaches behind the table the female names' were placed in and reveals a larger bowl, one that he has to hold with both hands. The other proceeds to dumb all of the female names into it, then do the same with the males names. Together they shuffle them all around before returning to their posts, leaving Effie was a delighted smile on her face beside a bowl that is nearly too large for her.

"I hope you all aren't worn out just yet, the fun has only just begun!" This time she looks to one of the cameras and laughs softly against the bitter silence of our District.

She walks back to the bowl and I feel my heart breaking even more. The companions were certainly picked and are marked inside the bowl, so there's no way Effie's going to miss them. Then it hits me; Rory and I are best friends. The Capitol has definitely seen us together; I'm going to be selected alongside him after all.

"Madge Undersee!"

The first name surprises me quite a bit. Madge is the mayor's daughter, and I know she's never done anything out of line or risky. The mayor stands up and clutches his heart as his only child steps out of the seventeen-year-old crowd, her face as full of shock and terror as we all feel. She's visibly shaking as she stands beside her companion, who quickly wraps her arm around her with a look of complete disbelief on her own face. I can't imagine someone as merchant as her associating with a Seam child like Melaina, so why would they select her?

The only solution is that the Reaping is more random than I originally thought. It doesn't change that I'm almost certainly going to be sent off with Rory rather than Peeta, but maybe Melaina doesn't have that many people, so they just let Effie fish out any name for the first addition. Effie now pulls out a name closer to the top, her level of enthusiasm not seeming to miss a beat.

"Persimmon Creek!"

Almost at once the boy steps out of the crowd, the same boy who was weeping for Melaina back originally. Melaina instantly jerks forward, her eyes widening to something more tender, more afraid. She hits her knees on stage and throws her arms around Persimmon, letting out a shriek coated with a sob. They have to be twins; their last names are the same, after all, and the resemblance of their faces shown on the screen is uncanny.

Tears blur my vision and I duck my head down. The Capitol is merciless in ripping families apart, and by the way she's sobbing, I know our original female tribute won't have anything to fight for or return to if her brother is killed in the arena. They're just like Katniss and I, and the thought of living without my sibling for a single second sends a deep ache through my chest. I know I'll be up there soon regardless. The Capitol wants this to be the best Quell yet, but it doesn't mean I can't start their show early.

"I-" I gasp out before the Peacekeepers can force Persimmon up on the stage properly. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I stumble out of the crowd and pant as all the cameras hone in on me, my red and teary face. The Peacekeepers falter, then continue forcing the twins onto the stage together. My heart beats wildly against my chest as all the eyes in the area turn to me, all full of shock and some with pity, and I worry my mistake was simply volunteering in the place of a boy rather than another girl. Of course the rules have bent a lot, but what would it matter now as long as they got what they wanted from me? 

"Terribly sorry, little one," Effie says with her pale eyes looking to me sympathetically. "I'm afraid that volunteering is not optional in this portion of the Reaping."

Of course it's not. They want the best show with their pawns, and anyone who imposes has to be shut down. I hear a slight murmur in the crowd as one of the other thirteen year olds gently pulls me into the crowd once more; Rory, Katniss, and the twins are both staring at me with mixed expressions. I can't bring myself to look at any of them as our hostess pulls out yet another name.

"Clarke Jerico!"

A boy from the front row steps up now, his face full of surprise but not fear. I see the hesitation on Rory's face before he ducks his head down, sniffling for the camera from onstage zooming onto his face. I've never heard this man's name or seen his face before, but the Capitol has their reasons and Rory is just playing the game. He's smart, very smart. His quick reaction makes my heart swell with hope that maybe, just maybe he'll survive.

"And last but certainly not least..." Effie calls as she dips her hand in once more, grabbing her last slip. "Primrose Everdeen!"


	21. Part Two, Chapter Five: Hot Chocolate

They don't let us stay together long. As soon as we step off of the stage we're each flanked by two or three Peacekeepers, corralling each of us into separate rooms. I wobble as I'm shoved into my room, falling to my knees as the door shuts quickly behind me. I stare at the pink carpet, feeling its warm plushness beneath my hands and knees. It only took a shove to send me to my knees; I really have no chance in a fight. In the arena I'm going to have to rely on wit and speed.

I have to force the crippling self doubt bubbling in my stomach back down; I can't afford to be depressed now. I have to be strong for Katniss. I have to be strong for Katniss and Rory and the twins and Madge and even Clarke. I have to be brave for the Mellarks, especially for Mister Mellark, Peeta, and Lavash, all of which have never been anything but kind to me. I have to show everyone that I'm not a weak comparison to my sister. Of course I am, but if I can survive the first night, at least I can say I wasn't a victim of what my sister calls the bloodbath.

Slowly, I rise and sit on one of the chairs, pulling my knees to my chest. I'm dirty from the walk this morning and my braids are half-fallen by now; I must have been a pitiful sight for the cameras. I'm jarred from my thoughts by a scream that is undoubtedly my sister's.

"Prim!" She shrieks from somewhere down the loud corridor. "Primrose! You have to let me see her! YOU HAVE TO LET ME SEE HER!"

I'm on my feet again instantly, pressing my ear up against the door. I can't make out what the Peacekeepers are saying, but I do hear the words "plenty of time" and "whip". The thought of them bringing the harsh leather to my sister makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I consider screaming to get their attention off her. Before I can, all of them go silent. The only sound I can make out now is Madge sobbing across the hall, so I can only assume they drugged her. They've done that before when she was showing insubordination, but a hot anger flashes across my vision.

"You bastards," I snarl quietly, pressing my head up against the door. "You can all go straight to Hell."

The door opens now, forcing me to stumble back quickly. Mrs. Mellark darts in, wrapping me into his arms and forcing me up against her heaving chest. I've never seen her so furious before, but it doesn't scare me. I wrap my arms around her neck and quietly start rubbing her back.

"It's okay, ma'am," I whisper. "It'll all be okay."

"Not you too!" She grips me all that tighter with her words, her tears seeping into my hair and shirt. "I could give a damn about Katniss, but why you?! They've taken enough from me!"

"What do you mean?" I manage to lift my face from against her shoulder, glancing to Mister Mellark.

His own eyes are clouded with tears now as well. It breaks my heart to see him so upset; he's crying for me as if I were his own daughter, and I realize that I love him just as much too. Tears begin to rush down my face as I reach out for him, letting out a pathetic whimper when he wraps his large hand around my small, shaking one.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers to me before enveloping both of us into his arms. "I'm so, so sorry."

"They've taken everything, absolutely everything," Mrs. Mellark growls furiously, gripping me so tightly her nails dig into my shoulders. "I've got a good mind to kill them if they try to make me leave."

"But they will," Mister Mellark responds quietly. "And you can't risk-"

"Shut the hell up, Parndoro!" She releases her hold on me and reels back, slapping him forcefully across the cheek.

I can't move at first. I've seen her hit his shoulder and back before, even elbow him in the stomach. In the five years I've lived with them, she has never directly slapped him, especially across the face. By the astounded look on his face, I doubt she has during their entire relationship. He slowly brings his fingers to touch the bright red mark, which somehow jolts me back into action.

"How could you?!" I scream and immediately bring my hands across his face, watching in horror as he flinches and the mark slowly begins to fade into what was definitely be a bruise.

Mrs. Mellark looks almost as shocked as I feel. " _Excuse_  me?"

"He's done nothing but love you!" I feel the resentment I've slowly build against her in every word, pouring out through my mouth so quickly I couldn't stop if I wanted too. "He loves you so much and you just go and  _hit_  him! He isn't your slave! He is your  _husband_  and all you do is berate him and your children! They all love you and you hurt them because of it! How could you be so cold?! How could you be such a...Such a..."

My last insult hitches in my throat as she looks to me with cold anger that she seems to reserve only for her sons. I can only shut my eyes as she squares her shoulders rigidly and raises her hand back, but she doesn't strike. I tentatively open my eyes to find her staring at me, the tears still rolling down her face.

"I should give you a proper beating for talking to me like that," she says shakily, her tone hushed. "But this is the last time I'll see you alive, so I won't. I just have one thing to ask you, Primrose."

"Yes?" I ask weakly.

"Does your precious Katniss not do the same thing?" She narrows her eyes and her tears stop falling. "You love her unconditionally, but what does she do for you in return? She can't stand to not be around you. She holds you back and forces you to be adult. She made you become a woman while she acts like a sniveling little girl. She may not hit you but I assure you, Primrose, her and I are no different at all."

"You're wrong," I choke out through the sob caught in my throat. "You're wrong and I don't want you around me again. You have no idea what Katniss-"

"Oh, but I do. I watched her Games." Now she gives me a small, sadistic smile. "You didn't. The only things you know are what she's told you."

The door opens once more and a Peacekeepers enters, barking out, "Time's up."

He seizes Mrs. Mellark first and jerks his head in Mister Mellark direction as he begins to pull his wife out. He barely looks at either of them as he grabs me into a hug, kissing my head briefly before another Peacekeeper comes in to yank him away.

"I believe in you, sweetheart!" He yells as he's pulled out. "You can win! You can come home!"

The door slams shut and I'm left alone, staring at the door. He said I could come home, but what home will I have? Mrs. Mellark seems to hate me now, and she's the one who controls their household. If I somehow survive, Katniss can always legally adopt me and we can live together without them. But even after everything that just happened, the thought of kicking out five people when only two have hurt us seems wrong.

Lavash comes in next, wrapping me into his arms. His hug feels like Mister Mellark's, so I can't help but cry into his shoulder and as he begins to try and reassure me. "Look, Prim. I know things are going to be rough for you and Mom when you come back, but once you come back she'll forgive you. Mom doesn't hold grudges, she's just angry a lot. Aish will respect anyone who's braver than him, so you'll have his approval when you come home. We'll all live together happily then. The Capitol won't be able to hurt us anymore as long as we keep Peeta out of sight and out of mind for one more year."

"You know I probably won't come back," I whisper shakily. "I can't come back if it means Rory dies."

"I can't tell you what you can and cannot do." His grip around me tightens. "But we all want you to come home."

I can only cry into his shirt until they pull him out as well. I suppose now I'll never understand why he looked after me so well; maybe I reminded him of his younger brothers, or maybe he's just as kind as his father. I've barely sat back down when Peeta rushes in with tears going down his scrunched up face, his sob into my shoulder echoing against the walls. I sob just as hard, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I bury my face in his neck.

"I-I'm okay," I whisper as I shake all over.

"Not you're not," he whispers in response.

"Y-yes, I am." I begin trying to swallow the tears, but they just keep coming as I try as hard as I can to look brave for him. "I am."

Peeta was the force that kept me sane while Katniss was gone. He was the closest thing I had to her, and he was always so gentle, so brave when his heart was just as broken as mine. I owe him that same bravery, and while I can't give it to him right now, I have to make sure he knows exactly what has to happen while I'm away. I know how badly he wants me to live, to come home so he can finally ask my sister out. I'll even bet he wants to marry her someday, and if I asked I'm sure he'd love the idea of all of three of us living happily in Victor's Village with our families. He hopes as desperately as I used to and occasionally still do, and because he appeased my hope so long ago, I have to validate his, too.

"Peeta, you have to listen to me," I say in the steadiest voice I can. "Are...Are you listening?"

"Of course." He peels his soaked face from my shoulder, his sad blue eyes meeting my own.

"Look, n-no...No matter what happens to me, you have to be there for Katniss. You can't...You can't let her kill herself like Mom did. I don't know how she'll live without me too, but you have to make her. She's...She's been so strong, and I can't die knowing that she'll let it all be in vain. You have to look after her like I did. She'll have good days and the worst days, but she survived our parents' dying. I know she can survive me being as long as you stay with her. She doesn't know it now, and she won't know it for a long time, I don't think, but she does love you. That's...That's why I know she can survive without us."

After I speak, Peeta just stares at me for a few long moments. I'm afraid they'll pull him away before he can respond, but he finally does before that happens. "I promise I'll take care of her."

"Th-thank you." I latch back into him immediately. "You...You are incredible. I love you so much."

"I love you too," he murmurs into my ear, then lets out a small cry with an exhale of air. "You're so much like her. She said..She said almost the same things about you when she went away."

That sounds just like her, but I'm still a little surprised. Even back then I was her world, just as much as I am now and just as much as she is mine. We need Peeta so badly, and there is no way I could ever pay him back for everything. Even if I came back and we did live in Victor's Village and make our own families, I couldn't ever express to him how grateful I am. The Peacekeepers don't have to drag him away, but they do have yank me off of him and force me back into my chair. Once it's gone, the real emptiness settles in my stomach, so much so I doubt it'll ever go away.

I have a few friends from school in, but all we do is cry and hug. They tell me about how they'll miss me, and how they hope I can win like Katniss. They promise they'll be watching and walk out without having to be dragged. I really do appreciate their coming to tell me goodbye, but I don't really start crying until Miss Hawthorne walks in with Vick and Posy trailing behind.

"Oh, sweetheart." Her voice is thick and broken from crying as she pulls me into a tight hug and kisses my head.

Vick has been crying as well, but not as much as his mother or sister. His face is mostly indifferent, which only proves he really is sick now. He knows the chance of us surviving is very low, and if I win, I know he'll never get better. I can tell Posy doesn't really understand exactly what's happening right now, but I can see a terrible fear in her eyes. She didn't know Gale or her father, but I know it isn't easy for her to see her mother so broken. I remember being just a little older than her five years ago, looking up to my emotionless mother, and I can all too easily identify to the flinch I see when she touches Vick's arm and he doesn't even look down at her.

"I-I won't...I-I.." I stutter, but there is nothing I can say to fix this.

"Primrose...Sweet, little Primrose..." She murmurs into my hair. "I love you so much. I love you just as much as I love my own son, do you hear me? Don't make any promises you can't keep."

"I-I love you too," I whisper shakily. "I love your entire family."

"I know, baby. I know you do." As she slowly smooths down my hair and softly wipes my cheeks, I feel my heart ache with the reminder of the mother I used to have before the mining accident.

"Good luck," Vick says hollowly, but the faint light I still see in his eyes is full of accusation. I know he would much rather I die to bring his brother home, and I don't blame him.

"Be safe!" Posy latches onto my waist and buries face into my stomach.

"I'll try, Posy." I lean down and kiss her small head, looking to Miss Hawthorne with tears forming newly in my ears. "I...I'll stick with him. I'll protect him. I promise."

She looks like she's about to protest, but there isn't any way to avoid the gratefulness that flashes across her face for just a moment. The door opens and she quickly grabs the hands of her remaining children, pulling them toward the door before the Peacekeepers can lay a hand on either of them. She looks back just before the door closes; her expression is so full of heartbreak I can't help but sob the rest of the time I'm alone.

* * *

 

We're all taken in two separate cars based on whom we were reaped alongside. Rory and I hold hands tightly as Clarke sits motionless beside us. Effie is in the passenger seat, rattling endlessly about the new world we're soon going to be a part of. From the stories Katniss has told me, the Capitol is just as strange and mindless as Effie; now that I'm about to be there myself, I can't help but feel nervous. It's hard to imagine hundreds of thousands of people that look just like our escort, with their hair brightly colored and their face paint so gaudy.

"Hey." Rory's whisper brings me back, and I turn my head slightly to meet his soft brown eyes. "You know how there are always programs from the Capitol on our TVs?"

Because of the Games, almost every family owns a TV because almost every family has been all but forced to watch one of their own slaughtered. He has mentioned once or twice that he occasionally watched the regular programs for boredom's sake, which is something hardly anyone does, but that does mean he knows what to expect even more than me.

"Y-yeah," I respond softly.

"Well, there is the really cool drink these kids drink on this one show about a popular Capitol families' life," he explains while gripping my hand all that tighter. "It's called 'hot chocolate'. What do you say we try some when we get there?"

Hot chocolate. I've had chocolate before because of the bakery, but it's not all that tasty. It's almost bitter and the Mellarks use it more for decoration than anything else, but maybe it tastes better when it's heated.

"Sure, I'd love too." I manage a small smile for him, then turn to look at the large eighteen year old beside us. "U-um...Clarke, right? Do you...Do you want to try some hot chocolate too?"

He doesn't respond at first, but when he does glance down he seems surprised to see I was talking to him. "What?"

His voice is deep, much deeper than my father's or any of the Mellarks. It's a little intimidating, but if I'm going to survive longer than a few minutes, I cannot let myself be frightened by things like voices.

"I said...I said, would you like to try hot chocolate with us?" I swallow my nerves and raise my head a bit to be just a little closer to his eye level. "When we get to the Capitol."

"You District rats are just so positively  _adorable_ at times!" Effie suddenly squeals from the front. "Oh, my dears, you can try hot chocolate as soon as we get on the train! Not to mention there are far greater delicacies than a little child's winter beverage. You are going to be impressed, I just know you all will love it!"

Clarke doesn't seem to even hear her as he nods once and continues staring straight ahead. Rory and I look to each other, and for the first time since before the Reaping I see the terror on his face. He doesn't look like he's been crying, at least not as much as me, but I know what's happening is destroying him as much as it's destroying me. I bury my face into his chest and he wraps his arm around me at once, and we stay like this until the car suddenly stops moving.

"Out, out, out!" Our escort squeaks eagerly as she removes the belt that held us still. "Come now, we don't want to behind schedule!"

This time, there are not so many Peacekeepers enclosing the six of us in a small bunch. They stay near as we're herded toward the train, but not close enough to obscure the wild flashing of cameras from what Katniss has called the media. They look thrilled against the bleak expressions of everyone from home; they move with us practically step by step while the rest of District 12 stands still, their sad eyes looking away as soon as I try to make eye contact.

Our families stand on small platforms at the very front; I remember being on one five years ago, clutching my motionless mother as they took my sister away. Back then the Hawthornes stood right beside us, and now they stand next to the Mellarks. Miss Hawthorne is as strong and stoic as she was before, clutching Vick and Posy to either side as she stares right at her oldest living son. Rory smiles for them despite the tears finally pooling in his eyes, but I can't force myself to be that strong as I look to the people who've kept me alive. As I make eye contact with Lavash, Peeta, and Mister Mellark, I remember what they said. They want me back so desperately, but at least I have Peeta's promise to me to save Katniss no matter what.

As Melaina and Ciana are pushed on board, I search around for new faces. I spot an aging woman off to the side, her face full of grief as three children grip onto her. One looks to be about Vick's age while the other two are about Posy's age, but they look more wary of their mother than afraid for us. At the very edge of the platform, I spot the mayor and his wife clutching each other as they stare after their daughter.

I'm still looking for one more person or group when someone grabs me under my ribs, lifting me off the ground enough to get me into the train car. As soon as the Peacekeeper turns he all but throws me to the ground, turning back to the others instantly as I struggle back up as quickly as possible. Effie looks sympathetic as she reaches toward me, but I just back away and go to the nearest window. I don't see anyone else new on the platform, so I just stare sadly and force myself to wave a little as we start to move away.

"Prim. Hey, Prim." I feel Rory's hand on my shoulder and finally tear my gaze away from the sight of District 12. "You have to come to see all of the food in here. It's  _crazy_."

As soon as I see the rows of platters, my stomach flips in my stomach. It really is crazy, and because Effie says it's all at our disposal, I can't help but grab something and pop it into my mouth. Sugar explodes as the food melts in my mouth, and I can't help but close my eyes against the intense flavors. It's certainly the richest food I've ever had, and my stomach is at once demanding more.

Before I can eat more, one of the doors slides open and Katniss runs in. She all but runs to me, engulfing my in her arms and sinking down to the floor with me at once. The tears spring back into my eyes and I forget about my hunger at once as we both start sobbing, her hands in my hair and her body shaking violently. I know she's speaking, but I can't really make out the words due to her frantic breathing and harsh sobs.

"Heartbreaking." I hear Effie say this, but she isn't the only one who speaks it.

Haymitch is standing in the same doorframe that Katniss rushed out of. His expression is free of any tears or any real emotion, but that's likely due to the fact he is definitely drunk. He looks to Katniss and I a bit longer, then looks toward the rest of the tributes.

"Well, eat your hearts out," he grunts. "There's plenty. I'll be in alcohol car if any of you are interested."

He turns around and takes a step forward, but the next thing I know he's in a pile face-down. One of the twins instantly rushes toward him, rolling him onto his back and sitting him up.

"Come on," she whispers. "Come on, you can't do this here. Let's get you back in your room."

"Leave him alone, Ciana." Melaina is standing with her arms crossed, her expression just as annoyed and even disgusted as Effie's. "He's not hurting anyone down there like that."

"You know that he'll puke soon," Ciana argued instantly. "If he throws up like this, he could suffocate."

"If he's suffocates it's his own fault." Her twin just scowls as she approaches him. "I'll help you get him to the couch, but no farther, okay?"

Together they grab one arm and begin pulling him toward one of the very expensive couches. Effie just scoffs and tells us cheerfully that dinner is at six, so we shouldn't eat too much so we wouldn't 'spoil our appetites'. Clarke and Madge then ask where their rooms are, so she leaves while the twins attempt to get Haymitch off of the floor.

"Katniss, I need to help those two," I whisper in her ear. "I need you to let go of me for a minute."

"No!" She hisses rather loudly and grips all that more tightly. "If you help them now, you'll only be killed. You know very well only one comes out."

"But we're not in the Games yet," I remind as gently as I can. "Please, Katniss. It's just to help Haymitch."

"Primrose-" She begins, but Melaina drops her side of Haymitch instantly and gives us both a hard look.

"Primrose Everdeen, right?" She says in an accusatory voice, her eyes stern and full of repressed anger. "Look, Primrose. Your sister is right. If you start helping everyone who looks like they need it, you're going to end up dead before the first day is up."

"Mel!" Ciana responds immediately, her face apologetic as she looks to me. "She could put it better, but she is right. After all, you tried to sacrifice yourself blindly for me once. That was more than enough."

I want to protest, but I know there is nothing I can say that will change their minds. Besides, I know that all three of them are right, but I want to help Haymitch as badly as Ciana. After all, he was my sister's mentor, and I know he's got to be a part of the reason she survived. I decide on three things as I carefully stand, bringing Katniss up with me.

"Let go please," I request once more. "Just for a minute, I swear."

She is still very reluctant, but she finally loosens her hold enough for me to push down her hands. I look to Rory, who has been standing awkwardly near the door we entered the entire time, and beckon him over. He just nods before I can open my mouth; he knows me very well by now, and that thought just makes my heart hurt all that more as we grab Haymitch on one side each ourselves and push him halfway onto the couch. Melaina scowls at us while Ciana begins crying silently again, but I'll worry about them later.

"Come on, Rory. Come on, Katniss," I say softly. "Let's...Let's go find our rooms, okay?"

Katniss grips onto my arm at once and follows my lead out of the car. Making attachments to the same children who are going to be trying to kill me is dangerous; I've known that ever since I knew what the Hunger Games were. But they are still children, just like me, and now that I see a portion of what I'm up against, I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to hurt them, much less kill them.

We finally find the hall that seems to have all of the bedrooms, so Rory takes the room right beside mine and I immediately ask Katniss to go find Effie for me. She is obviously reluctant to leave me alone at all, but I finish convince her by saying I'm going to change. After she leaves I open the closet, shuddering when I see that everything seems to be in my size already. I decide on a mint green dress, one that comes below my knees, and use the bathroom to wipe up my red face the best i can. From now on I know I have to be brave even though I know I won't make it out alive; all my thoughts of that are gone now that I've met my competition. The only thing I'm sure I can do now is spend my last few days with my sister, and after we're in the arena I'll try to keep Rory equipped to live.

"You paged, Primrose?" Suddenly Effie is in the doorway with my sister lurking behind her, her expression confused as she looks to me.

"Yes." I take a deep breath and put down the washcloth. "Do you we could try that hot chocolate now? And do you think you could get enough for everyone on the train?"


	22. Part Two, Chapter Six: Katniss's Sister

My sister's hand shakes as she holds a blade in front of me, so I steady it with my own as she brings it closer to my skin until it finally connects.

She called the tool a 'razor blade', and insisted she was doing me a favor by ridding my body of as much excess hair as she could before I met my stylists. She said they were nice enough for Capitolites, but they were still ruthless when it came to their job. The thought of them ripping away hairs with long plastic strips and transforming my body with tools unnerves me, so when she suggested trying to shave me ourselves I was eager.

In the time we've been in the bathroom, I think we've made significant progress. The beautiful white tub left us more than enough space to sit in it together, my sister cautiously guiding the tool across my legs, arms and underarms. She said they would still pull hair from places we weren't aware there ever was any, but these areas were the worst. I thank her repeatedly and hug her close, softly assuring her I would be fine as she left the bathroom in order for me to fully strip and shower.

She showed me last night how to work the various knobs and buttons, but I can't resist playing around with the temperature, speed, and scents as we near the Capitol itself. I know that once Effie begins prompting that we get ready to exit the train, it's going to be important to cater to what the Capiolites want and expect from me. Of course I'll providing my Sponsors for Rory's sake, but to do that I have to be careful. I am the younger sister of the youngest Victor that ever emerged from the arena; they will want somebody brave and kind, just as much as my sister was in her Games. But they won't want a replica, so I have to find some kind of angle to push them over the edge with me. I usually take pride in being my true self, but I know that they're going to want someone bolder than who I really am, someone who will give them a good show.

As I pull the mint green dress back over my newly cleaned and dried body, I wonder what angles my District mates will choose, if they choose any at all. Rory is a more relaxed person, not at all fierce and angry like his brother once was. Maybe he'll try a comedic approach like some tributes have before to win the interest of the public, or maybe he'll try and imitate Gale in order to seem like he's got more of a chance of victory. Either way I know he's been studying the Games for years since his sibling's death, coolly watching them and taking mental notes on how to and to not survive. I know he's afraid as much as I am and he's in doubts on how far he'll get, but he never stopped having to fight to survive. He's already got that advantage over several others, including myself.

I'm sure Clarke will opt to be himself. He's a tough young man, built to work in the mines and already weathered by hardship. I doubt he'll want to win them over in any fashion, and his survival will depend on himself alone. I feel bad for him momentarily, but figure that if that's what makes him the most content, he should pursue it in what could be his final days.

Melaina and Ciana are still mysteries to me, so it's hard to say what they'll do. Everyone can tell that Melaina is a lot tougher than her twin, more aggressive, more likely to kill. She seemed to have mp qualms about fighting until she realized it wasn't in her favor, so I doubt she'll have any problems going all-out in the arena. People like her are ticking time bombs, and would do anything for the people they've sworn to protect, including themselves. She reminds me of Katniss, which only makes the idea of killing her make me want to vomit.

Ciana reminds me of myself, fragile and hopeful for the world around her. By her kindness to Haymitch I know that all we want to do is help others, but we both know that's not going to be much of an option if we want to live. I'm willing to compromise this logic in order to keep Rory alive, but I don't think she will be willing to give in so easily. She wants her sister to survive as mutually as the other, so she might try to plea for her and get the Sponsors to protect her where she can't. It might be a very smart approach in my opinion, but I know sharing my idea would be out of the question. If Katniss knew how sure I was I'd die for Rory, it would shatter her beyond belief, and it would only earn the judgement of my fellow tributes.

I'm just beginning to put one half of my hair into its usual braids when I feel the floor shift beneath me and see the lights flicker. In another room I can hear Effie squealing for us to come to the window and see the people 'pushing for us to win', and I decide to leave my hair down as I obey her requests. The people are extravagant, colored in every shade imaginable, all cheering for the train slowly gliding into town. I've seen handfuls of them touring the Victor's Village before, but I can't help but be taken aback at the sheer amount of diversity in them. District 12's inhabitants all look similiar; I had no idea how wildly different people could look when they're freely mixed.

For now, my fascination isn't an act. I look around with wide eyes, leaning into the window glass and even grinning at the people waving eagerly. I can feel Katniss behind me moments after I begin, which only seems to excite those looking at us. I wonder if they'll react this strongly when I die, or if they'll remember me this time next year.

"They really love you, Prim," Katniss comments hollowly as we slowly approach the building where we'll be prepped for the Chariot Ride.

"I know," I reply slowly. "Maybe that will put the odds better in my favor?"

She smiles grimly for a moment and I catch the sadness in her eyes; the odds are never in our favor. If I survive the Games, it will be out of pure luck, and I'll get sick like Mom was. The only things I have to live for are the promises I made, but if I'm not the same as I am now, I wonder if my being alive will truly be worth it.

* * *

 

"She's such a cutie pie!"

"Oh, I  _know_. Who knew such a hideous District could produce something so lovely?"

"Well, there was that  _one..._ Oh, what, seven years ago? She was blonde and blue eyes."

"Yes, yes, but she was much too tall.  _This_ one matches her age perfectly. If I didn't know any better, she almost looks like one of our own!"

I can hear the words being spoken in the darkness, but they can't be real. There are three different voices, two female and one male, so I imagine they're the stylists Katniss told me about. They seem to be impressed by someone, but I can't imagine it's me. My sister and mother always insisted I was beautiful, but when I look into the mirror all I can see is a shell of who I could be. I'm weak and I crumple in the face of battle; even I am attractive, that won't do me any good in the arena.

When I reach up, I feel a smooth cloth over my eyes. I don't remember ever losing consciousness, or anything after the train stopped and we were led inside the building. Fear bubbles in my chest and hitches in my throat- what if they had to subdue me? Have I already panicked and shown them who I truly am? Katniss will be petrified to leave me alone, and if they'd had to contain her-

"Oh, she's awake!" One of the female voices squeaks, and at once I feel pointy nails on my cheekbones, slowly lifting the cloth from my face.

The three standing over me- Flavius, Venia, and Octavia- are just as diverse as the Capiolites I saw when we first arrived. Flavius's hair is a dark orange in a corkscrews with his lips painted purple, whereas one of the women is dressed in much more simply with her hair graying and blue streaks in the top. The second woman is radically different than both of them; her skin is a forest green and her hair is a blood red, and she's much more plump than her companions. She also seems to be the most excited to see me, which is a little scary but is also comforting in a way.

"We were beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep this whole process away!" She giggles, and in the back of my mind I decide she must be Octavia if what Katniss told me before was true. "I don't think I've seen anyone drift off like you!"

"This one is unique," the other woman, Venia, comments calmly. "She  _is_ Katniss's sister."

"Yes, but most tributes cry out in pain when we wax and scrub them! She barely stirred! Darling, did you not sleep last night?" Octavia muses excitedly, reaching up to brush some hair away from my face.

"We need to focus on her body, not who she is," Flavius snips from near my feet. "We'll have plenty of time to learn otherwise from tonight on."

His two female companions are obviously annoyed by his attitude, but they stop talking to me as they continue 'making me lovelier'. The process feels unnatural, but it doesn't hurt as much as Katniss insisted. They do pull away more of my hair and cover me in mysterious liquids that are somehow cold and hot, but it's more uncomfortable than painful. I almost want to believe I have higher pain tolerance than my sibling, but I know that's not true. Perhaps she just remembers it differently than me, or maybe things have changed this year.

"Your hair is so beautiful," Octavia finally croons as she sits me up and begins combing through it. "It just needs a bit of a trim and care and you'll look as endearing as one of us!"

The thought of her cutting my hair sends a shock through me and I can't help the tears threatening my vision. My hair has never been cut before, always braided twice to keep it from being in my eyes. Even if I am thirteen now, I hate to lose any of it, but it's only natural. If the arena is hot at all, it'll just make it worse on me, and I can't afford to have it in my face if I don't have the time or resources to braid it. This is for the best.

"I hate this for, you know," my plump stylist says in a voice so hushed in my ear that I barely catch it. "Such a pretty young thing sent to die. I'm rooting for you, Primrose."

* * *

 

The main stylist's name is Cinna. He seems very different from the Icarus Katniss has told me about in a tight voice full of anger in the years past. He looks young, only slighter older than my sister, and dresses in a simple shirt that sparkles and black pants. His eyes are kind, accented by gold and green, and when he looks at me he offers a small smile.

"So you're the lovely Primrose everyone has told me about," he says as he takes a seat across from me. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Cinna, and I will be your stylist for the days leading up to the Games. Though, I'm sure you already knew all of that."

"It's nice to meet you," I reply softly. "W...What happened to the old stylist? Icarus?"

To my surprise, Cinna grimaces. "Icarus le Ville has been transferred to District Four. He impressed our bosses enough with last year's stunt that he was moved this year."

I cringe a bit myself; last year the tributes were wrapped in fuse wire that was meant to make them look dynamite sticks, but halfway through the parade they'd been lit on fire. The tributes were mortified and the burns that showed afterwards were grotesque; not severe enough to hinder their participation apparently, but bloody and obviously painful. Those two didn't last a single day in the arena, and I wept for them.

"You remember," Cinna speaks with a gentle voice. "And I can assure that as long as I am here, nothing like that will come to you or your fellow tributes. You're all much more special than that."

"Special?" I reply with a confused frown. District 12 is considered many things by the Capitol, but we aren't special in a positive way.

"Yes, very special," he insists at once. "You're survivors, especially you, Primrose."

"I...I prefer to be called Prim." I'm only called that by people I love and trust, people who know me, but there's something about him that makes me know he's on my side.

He smiles. "Prim it is. Why don't we get started?"

**Author's Note:**

> Gentle reminder a lot of this writing is very, very old, and I'm only editing and fixing some of it in hindsight. The general integrity will remain the same, just remastered to be more factual and read /so/ much better. I hope you liked it regardless! 
> 
> Please remember to leave kudos/bookmark/subscribe/leave a review if it so compels you! Your outward support lights the flame that keeps this project going again!


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